


Sick Like Me

by LadyFogg



Series: The Horror of Our Love [1]
Category: Gotham (TV), Gotham (TV) RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Biting, Blood, Bloodplay, Bloody Kisses, Canonical Character Death, Choking, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Gore, Graphic Violence, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Manipulation, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Character Death, Murder, Mutual Masturbation, Not Canon Compliant, Obsession, Oral Sex, Pain, Painplay, Past Abuse, Patricide, Pegging, Possessive Behavior, Rough Sex, Roughness, Scratching, Sexual Discomfort, Slow Burn, Smut, Sociopathy, Torture, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-22 05:04:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 72,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9584735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyFogg/pseuds/LadyFogg
Summary: With unfinished business hanging over your head, being locked up in Arkham is holding you back. However, you have your eye on a certain red-haired maniac, who may be just the person to help you escape and realize your true potential.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Look at me, jumping randomly into another fandom for a visit. I honestly don’t know where this fic came from. But of course, once I thought of it, I couldn’t get it out of my head. For those of you who haven’t read my stuff before, HI!!!! For those of you who have, this is going to be very different and much darker than my other stuff. In general, a lot of bad/dark/triggering shit is going to happen in this fic. You have been warned. 
> 
> Since this is still a work in progress, I will update the tags as needed. What's listed now is stuff that I know for a fact will happen in the story. For some fic background, this is sort of an AU I guess. It basically takes place before season two, since I stopped watching after they killed him. 
> 
> The Fic Song is Sick Like Me by In This Moment - https://play.spotify.com/track/2bFdW5arNwyx0vNf5FAPCD  
> Fic Playlist - https://play.spotify.com/user/ladyfogg/playlist/0x0OivFsQrZhlMvBIZrqVq

They are at it again. 

The telltale sound of the headboard hitting the wall echoes down the corridor to your room, seemingly amplified with every dull thud.  _ Bump. Bump. Bump.  _

You clench your jaw, trying to block out the sound, but knowing you won’t be able to. Because she wants to make sure you hear. Her pure resentment for you has been there since the day she met your father. She thought once you graduated she’d finally be free of you; the constant reminder that her stake in your father’s fortune is half of what it should be. Or at least, what she  _ thinks  _ it should be. But when your father insisted you stay living at home, she had flown off the handle. 

They had argued about it a lot. You were just as eager for the chance to be free. When it was snatched away, your anger grew. 

You know why he’s keeping you. Despite how much he hates looking at you, he needs you to be there with him. As much as he despises losing his first wife just to bring  _ you  _ into the world, he can’t toss you away. Because you look exactly like her. You hear it time and time again. Especially when he’s drunk. Mostly when he’s drunk. And you wake up to him sitting in the corner of your room, watching you. Always watching you. 

Tonight though, he’s taken his second wife to bed instead of creeping around your room. Possibly because you’ve made it a habit to lock your doors, lest he give into whatever disgusting perversions are hiding in his mind. 

The thumping stops and you sigh with relief, only to hear a giggle and even  _ louder  _ thuds. Really. With all this money and the size of this house, they won’t invest in soundproofing. Or at the very least, let you move your room to another wing. 

You can’t take it anymore. 

Slipping out of bed, you move silently across your room to the door. The hallway is empty, though their noises are much less muffled and make you wrinkle your nose. Thankfully, the sound doesn’t carry downstairs as you head to the kitchen. Your father’s private security is milling around, looking bored. You avoid both men easily, ducking around corners and behind walls just as they come into view. Neither of them see you get the knife, and they certainly don’t see you walking back upstairs.  

The knife feels nice in your hand. Not perfect, it’s not properly balanced and the handle is too chunky. But this one will do the trick. You had decided as much the previous evening when comparing it to the others in the set. All it needs to be is sharp. And it is. You tested it on yourself to make sure. 

By the time you get back upstairs, the noises have finally stopped. Without making a sound, you turn the handle to their door and peer inside. There is no movement in the tangle of blankets, and the only sound are your father’s snores. You step into the room on tiptoe, pausing as the door creaks slightly. Nothing. Not even a shuffle. 

Still silent, you maneuver your way around the strewn clothes, eyes focused on the lump that is your father. Him first. He started this mess after all. No one told him to procreate. 

He’s on his back, mouth hanging open. You flip the knife in the air and catch it by the handle, before jumping up on the bed and straddling his chest. He doesn’t move, and judging by the sleeping pill bottle on the nightstand, you’re sure he’s not going to. 

Sad. You want to hear him scream. Oh well. 

You slide the blade across his throat slowly, grinning at the skin splits open and that warm rush of blood sprays all over you. It’s so much more satisfying than cutting yourself. In fact, you’re never going to cut yourself again. Now that you know how good this feels. 

Suddenly, your stepmother screams and you jerk your head to the right in time to see her coming out of the bathroom. She clutches a flimsy robe around her body and she’s screaming so loud. God doesn’t she ever shut the fuck up! You vault over the rest of the bed, making towards her so you can finally shut her up yourself. But the door bursts open and the security detail is on you before you get the chance. 

You’re so stupid! You should have checked to make sure she was sleeping next to him! 

The trial is a quick one. You found the entire thing laughable to be honest. Them looking at you with pity in their eyes. Why are they pitying you? They are the ones who are still slaves. You’re finally free. It’s liberating to say the least. 

And not even the last two years in Arkham have changed your mind. You still feel freer than you did back then. 

Currently, you’re sitting in rec room at one of the corner tables by the window. Eyes scanning the room, one leg is stretched out on the seat next to you, while the other is bent at the knee, propping up your arm. 

Fuck you’re bored. 

You resort to people watching, which is your favorite past time. Next to masturbating, which you really don’t want to do in front of everyone. 

It’s late in the evening, and most people have either been brought back to their cells or are busy doing other things. The few who stay in the rec room are those who have been here for some time. Some even longer than you. Your friend Aaron, and you use that term loosely since you barely speak, sits a few tables away with Greenwood and some other inmates. He keeps an eye on you to make sure no one is bothering you. 

You turn your head to look out the window, watching as the sun goes down and the lights of the city get brighter. 

The plus side to the creepiness that was your father is that you can always feel when someone is watching you. And besides Aaron, you know that someone else is. He’s been doing it for a while now, though you don’t give him the satisfaction of returning the gaze, too busy lost in your own thoughts. 

That woman still lives in that house. You’re sure of it. She put too much effort into making herself comfortable there. In your home. With your money. Not that you want any of it. You just don’t want  _ her _ to have it. 

You can just imagine the look on her face when you slide the blade along her throat, just like you did with your father. 

“What’cha thinking about, gorgeous?” 

You drift back to reality, turning your head to the side to meet those ever piercing eyes you felt before. Jerome sits across from you, chin in hand as he rests his elbow on the table. This is the first time he’s actually spoken to you, though you’ve heard his voice many times before. It’s pleasant and does things to your lady bits. 

You were hoping he’d come to you. Oh yes, you noticed him the second they brought him in. The circus freak, the guards called him. The one who murdered his mother and laughed about it after Detective Gordon and Dr. Thompkins confronted him. As soon as you heard that, you knew you needed to meet this boy. But you played coy. Kept your distance, until you were sure he’s what you want.  

“Murder,” you answer. 

Jerome’s face splits into an excited grin and he sits up straight. “Do share, do share,” he urges. “Plotting or reminiscing?” 

You smirk at his excitement. “Plotting.” 

He’s out of his seat instantly, vaulting over the table to land next to the chair beside you. He lifts your foot to slide into the seat, letting your leg drape across his lap. “There’s nothing like a well, thought out, premeditated murder,” he says. 

“What do you want, Jerome?” you ask, cutting straight to the point.

He gives a mock gasp. “You know my name!” he exclaims. “And here I am not knowing yours.” His grin widens and he wiggles his eyebrows. “How do you know mine?”

“I pay attention,” you say. 

Jerome swirls the chair towards you, his pale hand slowly moving up your leg in the process. It comes to rest on your inner thigh when he leans into your space. The feeling sends shockwaves of pleasure through your system, reminding you just how long it’s been since anyone you were physically attracted to was in that area. The occasional fooling around with a guard or other inmate was necessary for safety reasons, but this didn’t compare to any of those forgettable touches. 

What you wouldn’t give to be able to shove him onto his back and straddle his waist. His skin is so pale, you bet he bruises nicely. He might fight you though, wrestle you for control, maybe wrap those slender fingers around your throat…

“So, you’ve paid attention to me,” his voice cuts through your inner musings. He’s practically vibrating with excitement. 

“Well, you’ve been watching me since you arrived,” you say. “It’s only fair.” 

His smile fades as he reaches out with his free hand, the tips of his fingers trailing down your cheek. You indulge in the action, if for no other reason than curiosity. “Hard not to, pretty doll like you,” he all but purrs, tongue darting out to swipe at his lips. 

You watch the action, feeling yourself grow wet in response as it conjures all sorts of naughty images. 

“Flatterer,” you purr, leaning your face into his touch. 

Everything around you seems to blur, your focus entirely drawn to Jerome’s face. With the smooth roundness of it, you could see how the average person could mistake him for innocent. Idiots. All of them. Can’t they just see it? That delicious darkness deep in his eyes. You know they’re blue, but the pupils are blown so wide they look black. It suits him. 

You abruptly sit back. Swinging your leg off his lap, you turn your chair to face him completely. Now that he has your full attention, he does the same, eagerly leaning forward. 

“What’d you do to get stuck here?” he asks. 

“Killed my father,” you answer. 

Jerome’s face lights up and he puts a hand on his chest. “A woman after my own heart,” he exclaimed. “I killed my mom. Man, isn’t it such a  _ rush! _ ” He practically leaps towards you in his excitement, face split into a large grin. 

“It was almost magical,” you agree. 

“God, we have so much in common,” he sighs, leaning against the back of his chair as he crosses his leg to rest his ankle on his knee, nudging you with his foot in the process. “Why’d you do it? He touch you? Daddy get a little too handsy?” 

“He didn’t get the chance to get that far. Mostly it was because he clearly didn’t want me. Blamed me for my mom’s death, which I would love to take credit for. Unfortunately, I didn’t ask to be born so that’s on them,” you tell him. “The real tragedy was not getting to his cunt of a wife.” 

You can’t help the bitterness that seeps into your voice, and you lose yourself in the memories of that shrill witch again. If you could just go there now, knife in hand...but a good knife. A proper knife. Actually, didn’t even have to be a blade, just something sharp that would hurt real bad…

Your hands are resting on your thighs and you don’t realize you’re digging into yourself with your nails until you feel the prick of the jagged edges through the fabric of your pants. Jerome drops his foot on the floor and leans forward even more, drawing your gaze. Unable to help yourself, you do the same. He’s so close you can feel his warm breath ghosting across your lips. 

“What would you do to her?” he questions, voice so low you can barely hear him. 

You smirk. “Everything,” you say. “Anything. Honestly, as long as she’s not breathing when I’m done, I don’t really care.” 

Throwing his head back with a laugh bordering hysterical, he slaps his hand on the table happily. “Ohh, you’re nauuughtyyyy,” he sings, grin so wide it makes you smile back. 

“Puddin’, you have no idea,” you assure him.

“Puddin’? Hmm, Puddin’. I like that.”

Everything about him is working for you and you don’t even care why. You’re getting all hot and bothered thinking of all the things you want to do to him. It’s not new to you. You have thought of him before, alone in your cell with nothing but your own hand to bring you that sweet release. 

Those same feelings and urges hit you full force, and you can’t help but palm yourself over your cotton pants, the pressure offering little relief to your aching clit. Jerome’s eyes drift downward to follow the movement of your hand. His eyebrows shoot up and that smile drops, replaced with a smoldering, hungry stare. There’s a good thirty seconds of staring. You touch yourself and he watches your face, almost as if he’s committing your expression to memory. He glances at your lips and your mind is made up. 

You’ve decided to let him kiss you, or at the very least try to kiss him and see if he’s chickenshit. You lean in closer, and he obliges, both of you letting your eyes drift closed. 

“Hey!” a sharp, authoritative voice sounds a few feet away. “You two, knock it off!” 

Your eyes snap open, anger giving your vision a reddish tint. Jerome looks equally pissed off and you both slowly turn your heads to glare at the guard who interrupted the moment. No,  _ ruined  _ the moment. He fucking  _ ruined  _ it. 

The man in question, a short, round, man with a bushy mustache, actually halts his steps, and you see a flicker of fear cross his face for a moment. But then it’s gone, replaced by sternness and determination. 

“There’s none of that funny business,” he says, motioning to you and Jerome. Both of you still glare at him and you watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly. 

Oh that’s cute, he’s a little afraid. He is one of the greener guards. Hasn’t been around too long. Probably won’t be by the looks of it. If you had something sharp on you, you’d be after him for interrupting. But you’d have to be stupid to attack him in front of everyone, with no weapon. 

Instead, you swirl your chair around to face the table properly, crossing your arms and cocking your head to the side. You’re confused as to why the guard takes a step back, considering you barely did anything, but then you realize Jerome had done the same thing. Both of you, moving in perfect sync with each other without even meaning to. 

“Better?” you ask the guard. 

He smooths down his mustache. A nervous move perhaps? “You know the rules,” he snaps. 

“Of  _ course, _ ” Jerome says, overly cheerful. “We’ll keep that in mind, good sir.” He gives the man a mock salute. 

The guard gives you both a suspicious once over, before nodding and taking his leave. 

Jerome's smile is gone in a flash. He watches the guard move to stand with another one by the door, who can’t be bothered to even try to look interested. Actually, you know that second guard. Lawrence, you think his name is. You’re pretty sure you jerked him off a couple of nights ago. Hard to be sure, it was dark after all…

“Ugh, this place,” Jerome sighs dramatically, flopping back in his seat, arms dangling at his sides. “It’s stifling.” He rolls his head to the side to smirk at you. “About that name of yours…” 

“You’ll get my name when you’ve earned it,” you tell him. 

Jerome is out of his seat and sitting up on the table in the blink of an eye. “And how would I go about doing that?” he questions. 

You study him for a moment, before slowly lowering your crossed arms and sitting forward. This puts you at the perfect level to fit snug between his thighs, if he simply shifted over enough. “I’ll raise your question with one of my own,” you say. “Why are you suddenly talking to me now?”

“A girl could use a friend in this place,” he says. “The guards don’t care what happens. Well, the seasoned ones anyways. The newbies come around eventually. Bad things happen to bad people, all the time. Couldn’t help notice you’re always alone. You need someone.”

He's wrong. You're not always alone. It only appears that way.

“And that someone is you?” you chuckle. “You offering to protect little ol’ me, ginger?”

He moves to lay across the table, lounging on his side and resting his cheek on his fist. “I’m offering anything you need, princess,” he shrugs. “Like I said, girl like you needs friends.” 

“Oh I have friends,” you say, nodding your head towards the door, where the two guards are just leaving. “Tall one and I go way back.” You motion towards Aaron a few feet away, who has been watching you two this whole time. “Then there’s that nice, strong baldie over there. Simple guy, don’t have to blow him or anything and he still looks after me. Real peach he is. Plus a couple of others.” You sit forward, face just as close as it had been right before you attempted to kiss him. “So what do you bring to the table, hmm? What makes you think you’re good enough to join my friends?”

“Um, helloooooo,” Jerome says, gesturing to his body. “I’ve got a hell of a lot more brains than half the crazies in this joint. Also, I feel like you can appreciate the fact that I am literally presenting my entire self, to you, on this table.” He presses his forehead to yours, and all you can see are those bright eyes.  

You laugh as you slide out of your chair, getting to your feet. Jerome falls onto his back on the table, head tilted so he can follow your movements. Pretending to ponder his offer, you place your hands on either side of his head, towering over him. The top button of your shirt is undone and you know he can see just the tease of your cleavage. His eyes drift there before meeting yours again. 

He’s intrigued you to say the least. His approach suggests he needs you for something, though you’re not sure what at the moment. Still, he’s cute and you’ve had your eye on him for a long time. Could be fun. 

“Maybe,” you declare, reaching out to ever so gently removing a strand of red hair from his forehead. He’s quick to try to touch your hand, but you pull it away before he can. “We’ll see. Right now I’m tired and it’s almost lights out. I’m going back to my cell.”

You start to strut away, but remember something he said and turn back. He’s propped himself up on his elbows, still grinning like a maniac. “By the way, I hate the nickname ‘princess’. I’m so much more than that. Don’t ever call me that again,” you order. “I’ll think about your offer.” Smirking, you pop another button, giving him just a tease of the tops of your breasts. He bites his bottom lip, eyes darkening with that hunger again. “And feel free to think about me later. You have my permission.” 

With that you turn and walk toward the exit. 

“Oh you don’t need my permission to think about me, queenie!” Jerome calls after you. 

You stop as you reach the door and turn back to look at him across the room. “Good, ‘cause I already have,” you respond. 

His eyes roll back in his head as he makes an obscene grunt and falls onto the table with a thud. You can still hear his laughter even as you head to your cell. 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The overwhelming positive response has been amazing! Thank you guys so much! Be sure to follow me on tumblr (ladyfogg) for chapter teasers!

 

The yard Arkham offers isn't much to boast about. It’s a flat, square bit of grass surrounded by high walls. There are a few dead trees here and there, and a rather sad looking garden in the corner that had been abandoned long ago. Since, by law, they need to give you some fresh air, it was their solution. 

You’re actually enjoying it this time, having been off the permission list after a brief incident with a guard. Honestly, his eye was just fine. You don’t know what all the fuss was about. 

It’s sunny, a rarity for Gotham. You mosey around the yard, your friend, Aaron, trailing behind. You wave him away and keep walking, pausing by a bench to kick your shoes off. The cool grass feeling amazing between your toes. As you walk by one of the trees, Jerome seems to materialize out from behind it. You wonder if he was watching you from behind there the whole time you were wandering, waiting for Aaron to leave your side. 

“Morrringggg,” he sings, hurrying to cut you off. You keep moving forward however, forcing him to walk backwards. 

“Morning, Jerome,” you smirk. 

“Thought about you last night,” Jerome says proudly. He looks good today, his hair slicked back except for that one strand that doesn’t seem to want to do what its told. His face is bright and he’s absolutely giddy to see you.  

“Of course you did,” you say. “A lot of people do.” 

Jerome giggles and falls in step with you. “True,” he says. 

“Was it good?”

“Oh, sooo goood,” Jerome assures you. “Toes curled and everything. Made quite a mess.” 

“Hmm, well maybe next time I’ll be there to clean it up for you.” 

Jerome makes a noise that’s between a grunt and a bark. “Now there’s a mental image I won’t be getting rid of any time soon,” he tells you. After a few seconds, he shakes his head as if to clear it. “Unfortunately, I'm here on business.”

“Shame.”

“Right?” he grins. “Do you know Richard Sionis? Big shot CEO. Killed—”

“Yeah, yeah, killed twenty-something people just for shits and giggles,” you say, dismissively. You've heard it a billion times. “What about him?” 

“Well, he wants to be one of your friends,” Jerome says. “A fact I maaaay have forgotten to mention yesterday.” 

“If I recall correctly, you offered yourself to me,” you remind him. 

Jerome grins. “That I did, Queenie,” he says. The grin fades. “But I was supposed to offer him.” He leans in and puts his finger to his lips. “Shhhhhh, don’t tell him. It definitely won't go over well.” 

“I know all about Sionis,” you say. “He’s rich, so he likes to buy people's loyalty. Which is actually a really effective way to get them on your side. Just doesn't really help him in this situation. He’s come after me before and it didn’t go well. Never does. Pass.” 

You find a nice, mostly clean spot of grass and collapse onto the ground, laying on your back. The sun rays feel wonderful, though they get blocked out when Jerome leans over you, face eerily serious. 

“He won’t like that,” he says. 

Eyeing Jerome curiously, you ask, “Why are you following that imbecile’s orders? You're so much better than that.” 

“Survival,” Jerome answers. “Everyone’s got friends but me. Like I told you yesterday, guards don’t care what happens to us. If you know Sionis, you know that he’s the shot caller around here. A lot of people seem to be in his pocket, so when he ordered me to try to get you in as well, my options were fairly limited.” 

You allow yourself a luxurious stretch, relishing in the feeling of the soft grass. “And so you thought you’d try your luck with me why?” 

Jerome laughs and holds up his hands, making a square with his fingers. He pretends to bring you into focus as he says, “I like the look of you, Queenie. You’ve got the potential to be a real star, kid!” 

You laugh as well, rolling your eyes. “I’m pretty sure we’re close to the same age,” you say. Slowly you slide your foot up between his legs, stroking his inner thigh. “It’s not my pocket I want you in. I am  _ way  _ more fun than Sionis.” 

The slow smile you’ve come to adore makes its way across his face. He looks off into the distance, contemplating your offer. “Hmm...okay!” he finally shouts, and falls to his knees. Crawling over your body, he presses his forehead and nose to yours and asks in a low voice, “That mean we’re friends now?” 

Chuckling, you shove him off to the side. “Yes, it does,” you tell him. He falls next to you. “But, if you’re friends with me, you’re done with him. I’ve got plans and I won’t have him or anyone else interrupting me.” 

“Done. You’re prettier anyways,” Jerome states. Rolling over onto his stomach, he folds his arms under his chin. “Alright, Queenie, what’s the plan then? Whatever it is, I want in.”

“Not here, too open,” you say. “Also, ‘Queenie’? That a new nickname?”

“Well, a certain  _ someone  _ is being all secretive with her real name,” he huffs. “Had to come up with something to call you when I came last night.” 

Speaking of images being stuck in your brain. The thought of Jerome thinking about you with his hand around himself is almost too much for you to handle. Pants around his ankles, free hand fisting the bed sheets, hips jerking upward with each tug…

Focus. 

Smiling, you tell him your actual name, but he just scrunches his nose and shakes his head. “Nah, I like ‘Queenie’ better.” 

You kind of do too. Or at least, you like the way he says it. 

“Queenie, let me ask you something. I know you’ve got friends that you whore yourself to and that’s all well and good, but how do you stop the guards from doing bad things to you?” Jerome speaks rapidly, almost as if his brain is on overdrive. “I’ve been here near a year now and I have seen and heard some awful, awful things. Truly. Terrible. Things. But I've never seen anything happen to you.” He pauses, and you can see he’s breathing heavily. 

“Been watching that closely, huh?”

“I'm always watching you, Queenie. Always.”

You roll onto your stomach, bringing your faces close because you need to be in his space. It’s a compulsion you just can’t shake. Breathing the same air as him is becoming necessary when he’s this close. He smells like grass and a hint of soap, mixed with his natural musk. It draws you in, invading your senses. 

“You know how Sionis is rich?” you question in a low voice. 

Jerome nods slowly, grinning. “Yeaaaahhhhh.” 

You nuzzles the side of his face, inhaling the scent of his skin. He’s practically panting as he does the same to you, and he’s so close you can feel his soft eyelashes brushing your cheek. 

“I’m richer,” you whisper in his ear. “And I’ll have even more money when I kill my stepmom.” 

Jerome is growling now, low in his throat, drawing back enough to touch his forehead to yours. “Money is a powerful motivator,” he says. He pulls away suddenly, sitting up and crossing his legs. “Doesn’t really do it for me. But if it works on these pathetic halfwits, than who am I to complain.” He extends his hand, that ever present grin plastered across his face. “Shake on our new friendship?”

You’re so turned on you can’t even stand it anymore. Taking his offered hand, you give it a firm shake, then let your smile drop. He’s watching you carefully, smirking, waiting to see what you’re going to do next. Using his hand for leverage, you pull yourself up and onto his lap, cupping his smooth face. His mouth is already open when you kiss him, diving your tongue in as far as it can go. 

If he's surprised, you don't even notice. There's no hesitancy as his arm wraps around you immediately, while one hand buries itself into your tangled hair. You can feel his growl return, his teeth clacking against yours painfully.

It's like a strange tug of war. He kisses harder, tongue shoving past your lips, pushing you until you're nearly bent backwards. Grunting, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and resist, trying to push him back. After a few seconds, you succeed, rolling his bottom lip between your teeth. He tries to wrestle you for control of the kiss, but you’re not backing down. Neither is he. 

No other kiss compares to kissing Jerome. He’s hungry, demanding, painful. Oh such sweet, wonderful pain. From the way his long fingers twist and pull your hair, to the way his teeth bite your bottom lip when he draws away. Both of you try to catch your breathe. He tastes like pure sin and you’re just about to dive in for more, when out of the corner of your eye you see something across the yard. 

One of the inmates who had actually noticed the exchange suddenly looks fearful, and he turns around and runs into the building. Shit. It’s hard to see his face from his distance, but you know it can only be Sionis’s little snitch, Arnold. 

Jerome sees he no longer has your attention and grows angry. “Hey, focus,” he snaps. Both hands fall to your ass and he thrusts up against you, grinding his growing erection into your thigh. “We’re in the middle of something here!” 

“Sionis’s pet just ran into the building,” you tell him, getting off his lap. “Come on, I want to follow him ” 

Jerome sighs dramatically and hauls himself to his feet, scrambling to keep up with you. The both of you hurry across the yard, only stopping so you can retrieve your shoes from where you left them earlier. Aaron gets to his feet to follow, but you motion for him to stay behind. This calls for stealth, something he doesn't understand. 

Arnold is just turning a corner when you and Jerome get inside. You're quick to follow, making sure to stay a bit behind him so that he doesn't realize he's being followed. After a few minutes, Arnold slips down hall that leads to one of the abandoned wings that has yet to be redone. 

“He's going to Sionis's office,” Jerome tells you. 

You figured as much, you've been there before. But you don't tell him that. You just look around to make sure the guards are distracted, before slipping into the wing, Jerome right behind you. 

By the time you get your eyes on Arnold again, he's knocking on the door to a room at the end of the hall. A few seconds later, the door opens and he disappears inside. You and Jerome silently creep towards the room, but you can't hear what they're saying inside. All you hear are muffled noises. 

You motion to the door next to Sionis’s office. Jerome follows your lead and the two of you slip through it. It’s an old broom closet, with barely enough space for the both of you to move in. Once the door is closed, you drop to your knees. 

“Mmm, what sort of plans you have for me in here, Queenie?” Jerome teases, but you pull him down with you so he can see the small hole in the wall, peering into the next room. The voices stop and you both hold your breath, hoping they didn’t hear Jerome. 

After a few seconds, Arnold speaks. “Sorry, Richard. Sorry. But you said to come to you if I saw something.”

“What is it, Arnold?” Richard asks. 

You chance a look through the hole, which is partially hidden by a desk. It makes it difficult to see much, but you’re able to make out Richard lounging on what was once a sofa. The bodies of other people are also around, but you can’t determine exactly who they are. However, it’s clear they’re fellow inmates. 

“He was talking to her again,” Arnold says hurriedly. “They were talking together.”

“Arnold, we went over this,” Richard responds. “I told Jerome to talk to her.” 

“But you didn’t tell him to kiisssss heeeerrrr.” 

You lose sight of Richard as someone moves to block your view. Next to you, Jerome has buried his face in your hair and is currently smelling it, humming under his breath. It distracts you for the moment, your hand reaching up to cradle his cheek. You close your eyes and just savor the feeling of him being close. He kisses along your cheek to your lips, but Richard’s angry yelling brings you crashing back to your current situation.

“He is dead! That little shit is dead! You hear me?!” Richard explodes. “Him and the slut picked the wrong guy to mess with! And another thing—”

Jerome isn’t listening to the rant. He's clearly annoyed not to be the center of your attention and he gets to his feet. As you look up at him questioningly, he grabs your upper arm and pulls you stand with him, lining his body flush against yours. He’s kissing you now, pressing you to the wall. It's even more demanding than it was outside, and his body trapping you sends you into a fit of excitement. 

The sounds of Richard screaming in the background is actually a major turn on. While he rants and raves about betrayal and other bullshit, you worm your fingers through Jerome’s hair, tugging. He moans, so you do it again, knee sliding up to press on the bulge jamming into your hip. 

Every sensation sends a fresh wave of wetness between your legs. You claw at Jerome’s shirt, trying to bring him even closer, while his hands run along every part of your body he can reach. He’s giggling between kisses, the sound drowned out by Richard’s yelling. The way you're kissing...it's like you and Jerome are trying to devour each other.

You pull on Jerome’s hair harder than before, yanking his head back. He lets out an obscene sound as you run your tongue up his neck, sucking on the spot just below his ear. The bulge you're rubbing twitches as you press your teeth into that pale throat. Your face is seized in both his hands and he practically smashes his mouth to yours, stealing what little breath you have left. 

And still Richard rants. 

Jerome’s kisses are quickly becoming a drug. One that you are already hopelessly addicted to. His tongue is buried so far into your mouth you can’t even move your own tongue. Well that won’t do. You bite down, just enough to force him to withdraw. He doesn't at first, so you bite harder. He jerks away, breathing heavily and you taste copper in your mouth, the lingering reminder that you actually drew blood. 

“Wouldn’t it be hilarious,” he giggles, “if I were to just fuck you right here against the wall while he swears vengeance on us?”

“Oh it would be,” you agree. But then you put your hand on his chest and push him back, breaking almost all contact. “Except for the fact that while I fool around with my friends, I don’t fuck them.” 

Jerome’s arms drop to his sides and he fixes you with an incredulous look. “Are you shitting me?” he asks, chest heaving under your palm. 

“Nope,” you smile. “Only special people get that privilege. Been a long time since I’ve granted it.” You bat your eyelashes at him, playing coy as you let your fingers trail down his chest. “How about it, sweets? Do you think you have what it takes to be my special person?” 

“You don’t get more special than me, doll face,” he says, coming at you again. He just manages to get his arms around your waist when the door to the closet flies open. 

Blinking in the sudden light, you can’t help but smile at Richard’s angry expression. “Hey there, Richie,” you mock. “Been a long time.”

His goons seize you and Jerome, yanking you out of the closet. You struggle of course, while Jerome lets them manhandle him. 

“Fellas, fellas, easy,” he says. “Queenie will be absolutely heartbroken if you damage the goods before she has a chance to sample.” 

Richard isn't amused. He steps right up to Jerome and punches him in the gut. You scream angrily, fighting against the two inmates who are holding you. Jerome wheezes and doubles over, laughing. 

Richard doesn’t find it funny at all. He grabs Jerome’s face and pulls him up so he can peer into his eyes. “I wouldn’t be fucking laughing if I were you, asshole,” he snarls. “After everything I've done for you? This is how you repay me?!”

“You have to admit, it’s just so  _ funny! _ ” Jerome exclaims. At the lack of reaction from Richard, he laughs even harder. “Come on! Think about it! You send me to go talk to the girl you’ve been lusting over, and has rejected you over and over and over and over…” He coughs slightly as Richard tightens his grip. He’s still being held by the Arnold and another inmate, not bothering to try to break free. “Only to learn she likes me more than she likes you! For all your money and power, you lost out to a skinny, pale, guy with nothing to his name! It’s fucking  _ hilarious! _ ” Jerome laughs louder. “To be fair, I have a  _ wonderful  _ sense of humor!”

Richard punches him in the gut a second time and you see red. Self control snapping, you turn and sink your teeth into the arm of one of the men holding you, only to yank off a chunk of skin. As he screams in pain, you wrench your arm free and spit the skin at him, before turning and sinking your fist into the face of the other man. 

“Woooo! Look at Queenie go!” Jerome exclaims excitedly through his laughter. He's looking at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. 

Richard, not expecting such a violent display is temporarily stunned. Arnold is sufficiently terrified and immediately lets go of Jerome, taking off down the hall. You wipe the blood from your face, smearing it across your mouth as you grin. His men take off running, leaving just you, Richard, and Jerome. Well, and the man with the missing chunk from his arm who is currently bleeding all over the floor.

“We talked about this last time you came after me,” you growl at Richard. “Do you really want to do this again?”

“You need to be shown your place!” Richard snaps, seemingly over his shock. 

“My place is standing on your fucking grave, Sionis!”

From the other end of the hall, there’s suddenly yelling as guards finally come to investigate the noise.  

Jerome grabs your hand and starts to pull you back the direction you came. Richard is also backing up in the opposite direction, so you allow Jerome to pull you away, not even bothering to spare your enemy a backwards glance. Jerome’s laughter is ringing in your ears, but that quickly stops as you both round a corner and smack into more guards.

They grab you and Jerome, trying to separate you from each other. Jerome fights hard, managing to reach out and seize the back of your head, yanking you into one more painful kiss. His eyes still shine with awe and you barely get a chance to grin at him before you’re both carried off to your cells. 

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still blown away by all the positive feedback! Thank you guys so much for reading and commenting. Your comments always make me smile.
> 
> If you haven't checked out the fic playlist (https://play.spotify.com/user/ladyfogg/playlist/0x0OivFsQrZhlMvBIZrqVq) I highly recommend it since I'm always adding songs, and taking song suggestions as well!

 

The guards sedate you right after they get you away from Jerome. It's not enough to knock you out, but it definitely takes away the strength to fight them. Instead of your normal cell, they bring you to one with walls and a small window on the door. It's what they do to those who are particularly violent. You’re placed on the bed and locked in, forgotten about for the rest of the day. Except for that evening when someone shoves in a tray of disgusting goop that’s meant to be food. 

Too drugged to care, you eat it and then succumb to the darkness of the cell, passing out for the rest of the night. It's another twenty-four hours before they let you out. After being allowed to shower, you're brought back to your regular cell, clean and ready to get back to it. Unfortunately, you're confined until the next day per procedure. Considering you've been the epitome of compliant, you don't foresee any long term consequences for what you did. Though, you suspect you’re going to get an earful at your next therapy session. 

The guards don't really care at least. As far as they’re concerned, they followed procedures by keeping you away from everyone else. That was that. Their asses are covered and they can go about their business. No, it's not the guards you have to worry about. It's Sionis. These types of situations are handled among yourselves. You can expect retaliation from the rich bastard. It’s just a matter of when and where. 

However, you find yourself hopelessly distracted from the problem at hand by the scheme you've been brewing.

Your escape from Arkham has been in the works since your incarceration. Since, legally, there’s really not much hope for you leaving anytime soon, you’ve had to be a bit more creative. Just like Richard uses his influence, you use yours. It seems that while you still live, your father’s estate rests in your hands. Apparently his will never covered patricide. That, and the board of directors at his firm don't trust your stepmom. 

It only took a few well written letters for them to be on your side. Spinning the tale of how sheltered you were. How your father used to visit your room at night. How you feared what he would do. It helped that it was true. Not the last part though. You weren’t scared of your father, because you knew if he tried anything you’d take care of it. The head of your dad’s law firm, Chuck, is a greedy man. You know as long as you have him running the company, you’re set. You pay him more than enough and he won’t jeopardize his stake. 

The sound of footsteps walk past your cell and a small package is tossed in without a word. Getting off your bed, you scoop down to pick up the thick envelope, glancing out of the bars just in time to see Lawrence slipping around the corner. The package turns out to be from Chuck: a letter updating you on the status of your recent instructions, along with some cash, and a few cartons of cigarettes. Good. You ran out of both days ago and you’d like to not have to pay  _ everyone  _ with hand jobs and blow jobs. Too time consuming. 

The suns sets as you’re burning the letter, with the lighter it included. You throw the flaming paper into the trash bin, watching the fire die down until all that’s left is ash. Playing with the lighter, you lay on your bed, looking up at the ceiling. 

The more you think about Jerome working with Richard, the more the arrangement bothers you. Richard truly wasted an amazing opportunity. Jerome is ambitious. He's smart. He's itching to get out and make something of himself. Yet Richard had him running errands like some lap dog. Pathetic. Cruel. 

These hours in solitary have given you plenty of time to think. You want to take Jerome with you when you leave. Someone so obviously special shouldn't be locked up in a place like this. But you need to make sure you can trust him first. 

It’s hours later before anyone comes by your cell again. Technically they’re not supposed to, but your money takes precedence over rules. Most of the time. The sound of the key unlocking your cell wakes you up and you glance over in time to see another one of your guard friends, Dallas. Carefully you sit up and stretch, wincing as your sore joints crack. You can’t wait to walk around for a bit and stretch your legs . 

On your way out of your cell, you pass Dallas some of the money Chuck sent you. He frowns as he looks at the bills in his hand. 

“Is there a problem?” you question with a raised eyebrow.

“Last time I got a hand job,” Dallas grumbled. 

Ugh, this again.

“Really? You're going to sneer at cash? Look, you want payment then this is the payment you're getting tonight,” you snap. “I got a lot of stops to make and no time for ungrateful assholes. Got it?”

Dallas makes disgruntled noise and shoves the money into his pocket. The hallways are dark, but you’ve walked them so many times before you know exactly where you’re going. While you don’t know specifically where Jerome’s cell is, you have idea and after not seeing him for nearly two days, you’re starting to have withdraw. Dallas follows behind for some time, just in case. If anyone sees you, they don’t question why you’re out. 

Jerome is on his bed when you silently walk up to his cell. He’s laying on his back with his hand behind his head, eyes closed. You’re sure he’s asleep, but as soon as you step into view he sits up. Dallas hangs back, unsure if you need him to open the door. Not tonight. You nod for him to leave you and he does, disappearing into the darkness. The only source of light is the nearby exit sign, which casts the area in a red glow. Perfect. Mood lighting. 

“Hiya, handsome,” you coo, crossing your arms. 

Jerome grins, slowly getting to his feet. “Hello yourself, doll,” he says. He comes to stand a few inches away from you. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Yeah, they had me in solitary for taking a chunk out of that guy’s arm,” you say, shrugging. “Totally worth it.” 

“You were  _ spectacular, _ ” Jerome gushes. “I’ve never seen such brutality from a woman before. It was arousing to say the least.” 

“Happy to be of assistance,” you chuckle. 

Jerome takes a couple more steps in your direction, “How do you get to skip around this place at night, Queenie?”

“Connections,” you say. “Ones I would like to extend to you.” 

Jerome looks positively giddy and grabs the bars, the red light making him look demonic. Your own personal demon, from the very depths of hell. “Alright! Open this baby up and let's have some fun!”

Unfolding your arms, you reach out to place your hands over his as you lean in close and say, “Not yet.”

Jerome gives a heavy sigh of frustration. “Ugh,  _ why?!”  _ he whines, stomping his foot childishly. 

“Listen, Jerome,” you say. “We're friends now. And friends need to trust each other. I had a lot of time to think when I was locked up the last day or so. Have a lot of questions that need answering. For starters, how do I know the whole thing with Richard wasn't just for show?”

“That is a good point,” Jerome chuckles. “This whole back and forth could just be a big set up so Sionis can get in your pants and have complete reins of this place without you in the way!”

“Honestly, once my plans are set he can keep this place,” you say. “I have more important things to worry about than that douche.” 

“Such as?” Jerome asks. “Come on, Queenie, you’re killing me here! What’s a guy gotta do to see what’s in that pretty little head of yours?” 

“You have to earn my trust, sweets,” you say, letting go of his hands.You reach through and trail your fingers down his cheek. “You want me to trust you, right?”

Jerome leans his forehead against the bars, grinning. “Yes,” he hisses. “I knew from the moment I saw you that you were hiding all sorts of naughty things. And I want to discover every last one of them.” 

“Then you need to  _ prove  _ to me that you’re worth my time and my trust,” you say. “Until then, no skipping around at night with me.”

Jerome growls low in his throat. “What I wouldn't give to just have you right now,” he huffs. 

“Oh yeah?” you grin, brushing your mouth against his. “What would you do to me?”

“Make you scream,” Jerome’s voice is low and dangerous. “Slam you against the nearest wall and fuck you until you couldn’t take it anymore.” He pushes off the bars excitedly, body twitching and moving as if he’s trying to prevent himself from doing everything he’s saying. “And then I’d still keep going, until you’ve forgotten every last one of those worthless shits who touched you before me.” 

The possessiveness intrigues you greatly. While mentally you’ve already laid claim to him, it seems he’s done the same. You may have underestimated his desire for you. Usually when you play this game with someone they’re after quick release and then that’s it. Jerome's seems much deeper than that. He wants to own you, but not the way Sionis does. Sionis wants you as a trophy piece. Jerome looks at you like he wants to eat you alive. 

You cock your head to the side. “You sound jealous, puddin’.” 

Jerome doesn’t even seem angry that you called him out. “I’m only jealous when it comes to things that are mine,” he says. He’s pacing like a caged animal, eyes still trained on you. 

Pure desire and arousal takes control and you want nothing more than to open the cell and tackle him to the bed. What you wouldn’t give to physically claim him, not just mentally. Mark him. Make him bleed so he knows that he’s yours just as much as you’re his. Because you know yourself and you know you’re already his. He doesn’t need to know that. Not yet anyways. The only thing that’s stopping you from just going for it is the bigger picture. If you’re going to escape, you’re going to need him. Not just to help create the distraction, but afterwards. If anyone is going to be able to help you destroy your father’s legacy and kill your stepmother, it’s going to be Jerome. And he’ll laugh as he does it. 

“I could be yours,” you say with a casual shrug, making Jerome halt his pacing. “You could have all of me, even all the tasty bits I keep away from my other friends. Bits I play with alone in my cell, picturing your head between my thighs…” 

Jerome charges at bars separating you, grinning like the mad man he is. He goes in for a kiss, but you put your finger on his lips, stopping him. His grin drops and with a shrug, he pushes off the bars. “ _ Fine _ , I'll prove it to you  _ someway _ .” He puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head. “Pft, women and their trust issues.”

You roll your eyes. With a grin, you stretch your body along the bars, arms reaching above your head. “Now that that’s out of the way,” you say. “Come here.”

Jerome raises an eyebrow and saunters over to you slowly. When it’s clear you’re not going to stop him this time, he reaches through the bars to grab at you. 

This kiss is no less rough than the ones from the other day. Though it is difficult to get as into it with the bars between you. The redhead is nearly crushing you against the metal, trying to pull you as close as he possibly can. His teeth nip at your bottom lip as he briefly draws back for air, only to attack your mouth once more. A hand slides down to grab your ass, while another snakes under your shirt, finding your breast and squeezing hard enough to draw a moan out of you. That’s when you take a step back, breaking all physical contact.  

You want him to touch all of you. You want those long fingers digging into your skin as that mouth bites down on your neck. But you can’t do what you have to do if you give in. There’s an order to this. You get what you want, then he gets what he wants. No exceptions. 

“No, no, no,” you tease, wagging your finger at him. “Trust before bust.” 

Jerome lets out an angry growl of frustration, gripping the bars tightly. “I can’t even touch you?! Oh, Queenie, you sure know how to drive a man absolutely insane,” he laughs. 

Stepping in close, you whisper. “You can touch yourself and I’d be more than happy to watch.” 

Jerome’s eyes shine with excitement and his hand is shoving down his pants before you even finish your sentence. The realization that he’s going to stand there and jerk off right in front of you is so deliciously naughty it makes you shudder with anticipation. You rest one hand on the bar in front of you, and Jerome takes the opportunity to seize your wrist, keeping you there. 

“I’ll touch myself,” he tells you. “But there’s no escaping this time. I want you to see exactly what you do to me.” His pants drop to his ankles, but you’re too focused on his intense stare to look down. “You get under my skin, Queenie. Since I laid eyes on you, I knew I had to have you. When Sionis said you were off limits, well that just made me want you even more.” You hear more rustling fabric he pulls himself out of his underwear. “See, you’re just like me. You’re special. You and I are destined for so much more than this. We’re going to do great things together, doll. I know it.” 

Reaching through the bars with your free hand, you grab his wrist and pull his hand towards you so you can spit in his palm. His mouth attacks yours immediately after, wrenching his hand out of your grasp. Biting at his lips, you listen to the sound of skin on skin as he starts to tug on himself. His tongue is relentlessly plunging into your mouth, the fingers of his other hand digging into your wrist. He’s going to leave bruises, you know he will. Fuck, you hope he will. 

Jerome jerks his head back and moans loudly, leaving you free to finally glance down. And you’re not disappointed by the sight. His cock is longer than you imagined it to be, and seems to be growing thicker with each pump of his own unforgiving hand. You wish the light was brighter so you could see the show in all its glory. It’s still a good enough sight to make your mouth water, and though you would love nothing more than to drop to your knees, that’s not what tonight is about. So instead, you slip your hand into your own pants, two fingers sliding through your folds as you watch Jerome pleasure himself. 

He’s looking down now too, hungrily watching the bulge of your hand squirming under the fabric of that horrible striped uniform. You’re so unbelievably turned on that it actually hurts, forcing you to whimper at your own touch. At the noise, Jerome’s eyes shoot back up to study your face and you rise to the challenge to meet his gaze. 

Forehead to forehead, you stare each other down as you pleasure yourselves. You catch yourself trying to match his speed with your own hand, imagining that it’s him touching you. While you squirm against the bars, he is eerily still, watching and daring you to look away from him. But you’re not going to this time. You couldn’t even if you wanted to. 

His release hits your pant leg unexpectedly, making you moan with longing. You want to feel it on your skin. You want him to straddle you and pump himself all over your chest while you writhe underneath him. He’s smiling now, panting against your lips, waiting for that moment when you find your own release. It only takes a couple more rubs of your swollen clit before you jerking into your hand, humming with satisfaction as you try to catch your breath. Not the most explosive one you've had, but definitely good.

He kisses you right when you come, stealing your breath away. Literally. You gasp for air, but he won’t let you get away, hell bent on kissing you until you’re absolutely dizzy. Your lungs are on fire, but you can’t stop, addicted to every little twitch and flick of his tongue along yours. 

Head spinning, you finally jerk away and he lets you go. The wrist he was holding hurts like hell, but it’s such a sweet, wonderful pain. As you take your other hand out of your pants, he grabs it and brings it to his lips, sucking the slick from them with a low moan. The wet slide of his tongue along the digits is enough to get you ready for more. Shit that's hot. It's also not something you typically allow. However, you can’t find it in yourself to be mad. It only makes you want him more. 

But unfortunately, he’s not the only stop on your rounds tonight. And as much as you’d like to stand here masturbating with him all night, business needs to be attended to. Especially if you’re going to get the both of you out of this place. 

You thumb his bottom lip as you draw your hand away. “Remember,” you say in a low voice. “Show me I can trust you.” 

Jerome is panting when he nods, grinning at you excitedly. “Oh I will, Queenie.” 

“Good. Now, sadly, I must be off,” you say, adjusting your pants as you fully step away. The spot where he came is still very much wet and it sticks to your thigh as you move. “I have some more friends to visit tonight.” 

That wipes the smile of his face. “You gonna let them touch you?” he demands. 

“Of course I am,” you lie, mostly to see how he reacts. “They’ve earned it.” 

Jerome hurries to pull his pants up. “One day, Queenie, we’re going to be alone and they’ll be no where for you to escape. And I’m going to take everything I want from you. Starting with that sweet cunt of yours.” 

Yes. Yes he will. And you’ll let him. You’ll gladly present yourself to him any way that he wants. 

“You can’t take it if I’m willing to give it,” you say in a sing-song voice as you turn to leave. “Now you have to ask yourself what you’re willing to do to make that happen?” 

Jerome laughs. “Don’t you worry about that. I’ve got ideas. See you tomorrow, doll.” 

You wave to him over your shoulder without even looking back 

Later that night, when your rounds are done, people have been paid off either with money, cigarettes or your hand, you lay in bed, fingers trailing over the dry spot on your pants. 

You’ve manipulated people for years. It’s your bread and butter really. You love being able to just twist people’s desires around your finger until you get them to bend to what you want. It’s actually fairly easy for you, since you’ve had your entire life to practice. The thing about Jerome is, you don’t think it’s actually working. Rather than manipulating him, you almost feel as if he’s  _ letting  _ you. Playing along with your game just to see where it goes. 

If so, he’s even more clever than you gave him credit for. 

You smile as you recall how he said you were special. No one’s ever said that to you before. At least, not anyone who you believed. And fuck, the sight of him licking your fingers clean is enough to fuel your fantasies for any and all future lonely nights. 

You sit up suddenly, a thought making your heart race. Wait, was this him trying to manipulate  _ you _ ? Telling you that you’re special. Making you believe that you have power over him? You replay his words over and over again, suddenly recognizing the game you play yourself. You've never been on the receiving end before. 

Oh he’s good. He’s really good. 

“Well played, Jerome,” you say to yourself, laying back down with a grin. “We are going to have so much fun.” 

The telltale signs of dawn can just be made out through your small window, and you turn on your side to get comfortable. Your eyes catch the dark bruises forming on your wrist and you smile fondly, thinking only of his rough touch as you finally drift off to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on tumblr (ladyfogg) for chapter teasers and updates!


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, you’re let out of your cell with no further mention of the biting incident. 

Aaron is waiting for you at breakfast at your favorite table. He offers you your seat and stands next you like a good bodyguard. There are certainly more eyes on you than usual, but you ignore them for the most part. To your surprise, Greenwood suddenly appears, sitting across from you. Considering he usually runs with Sionis, you're instantly skeptical. 

“Can I help you with something?” you ask hotly. 

“Heard you bit a guy,” Greenwood says excitedly. “That true?”

Trust the cannibal to be excited about what you did.

“Yeah, it's true. Why? Jealous?” you ask.

Greenwood grins, fidgeting in his seat. “Kinda. It's been a long time for me.” Gross. “You looking for more friends?” he asks.

Ew. Your skin crawls with disgust. You're two seconds away from telling him to fuck off when you decide to fully explore his offer. Taking another man from Sionis is an appealing thought. First it was Aaron, then Jerome. Now Greenwood wants in, and he seems to be willing to switch without a bribe. Good because the thought of doing anything sexual with him is revolting. You do have standards. 

You study the scruffy man for a moment before resting your elbows on the table, hands clasped together. “Why should I accept you into my crew?” you ask. 

Greenwood sits up excitedly. “I know things. Things about Sionis that could help you,” he says. 

“So does Jerome.”

Greenwood rolls his eyes, face twitching with annoyance. Clearly there's friction there. Good to know. “What, that runt? He killed one person. I've killed twelve,” he says.

You shrug. “So? That suppose to impress me?”

“It should,” Greenwood snaps.

“It doesn't,” you tell him, pulling your food tray closer. “First of all, you killed twelve women and ate them. Considering I am a woman, you can why I'd be on edge around you. Second of all, I'm looking for quality, not quantity.”

Richard arrives at his table across the room, immediately looking in your direction. His eyes fall on Greenwood and you can just see the fury. You simply give him a cheeky wave and pull your tray over to yourself. After a night of exchanging favors, you're famished. 

Jerome arrives shortly after Richard, whistling as he carries his food towards your table. When he sees Greenwood, he pauses, eyes narrowing dangerously. His anger is different from Sionis's, seemingly routed in suspicion rather than betrayal. 

Jerome looks like a man possessed as he moves toward your table. 

Aaron steps up to stop him. “She’s in a meeting,” he says dangerously. 

With a charming smile, Jerome bows. “Easy, big guy,” he says, putting a hand up in surrender as he balances the tray with the other. “I come in peace. I believe she's expecting me.” 

You were, in a sense. Given everything that's transpired, you have a feeling Jerome is going to be at your side from now on. Which suits you just fine.

“He’s allowed, Aaron,” you say to the large man. “Greenwood and I are done here.”

“No we're not,” Greenwood grumbles. “What do I have to do? Come on, there's gotta be something.”

“Impress me, Greenwood. Make yourself useful,” you snap. “Because from where I'm sitting, you have nothing I need.”

Jerome drops his tray in front of Greenwood and waves him off. “You heard the lady,” he says. “Shoo shoo.”

Greenwood glares at you both before getting out of his chair and slinking away. 

When he does, Jerome takes his seat. “Morning, gorgeous,” he grins. “What was that about?”

“Oh nothing,” you say. “Sionis's men are getting skittish. At least, Greenwood is. Wants a new leader it seems. I wouldn’t be surprised if more approached me.”

“You thinking of teaming up with Greenwood? He's just a has-been cannibal. He barely does anything for Sionis,” Jerome informs you.

“He approached me, not the other way around,” you tell him. “Let me worry about who qualifies to join, alright?” You dig back into your food, looking around the room. 

There are a number of empty seats at Sionis’s table. Aside from Jerome and Greenwood, you notice Arnold is absent as well. You wonder where he is. He’s a skittish one, but he's good at watching and listening. 

Jerome isn't eating. He's studying you closely, eyes narrowed. After several seconds of this you sigh and put down your fork. “What?”

“Nothing,” Jerome says, with a nonchalant shrug. “Just wondering why Greenwood is suddenly so quick to switch.”

“You're saying it's a setup?” you ask. “Trust me, the thought crossed my mind. I've got this, Jerome.”

He looks like he wants to argue, but you're staring him down. If he thinks last night meant you're equals in this, he has another thing coming. Until you're out of that asylum, you're the boss. It's your show. After several long tense moments, his smile returns and he reaches across the table to take your hand, placing a kiss on your knuckles. 

“Whatever you say, m’lady,” he says smoothly. “You're in charge.” Suck up. He turns your hand over and places a kiss on the purple bruises encircling your wrist, smirking. 

You get the humor in his words. Telling you that you're in charge while drawing attention to the reminder of who was in charge last night. He's such an ass. You want to fuck him right on the table. 

“And don’t you forget it,” you tell him, patting his cheek, before playfully shoving his face to the side. He laughs and starts to eat. 

The rest of the morning passes fairly quietly, which should be your first clue that something is amiss. People seem to be actively avoiding getting anywhere near your little group. After breakfast, you, Jerome, and Aaron head to the rec room to kill a few hours. You’re not there long before the guards come to collect you for shower time. 

The Arkham communal bathrooms are old and in serious need of repair. There are a few lockers when you enter, then a hallway at leads to the showers, with toilet stalls around the corner. The showers are along the walls of a small, square area of the room. You’re ushered in with a several other women, who mostly are keeping to themselves, as they normally do. 

You strip down to nothing and pick a shower at random, turning on the hot water. Thankfully, there is some today. 

As you wash away the sweat and fluids of the previous night, you can’t help but reflect on your encounter with Jerome. You have to be careful. He’s far more dangerous than anyone you’ve been in contact with before. It’s quickly becoming apparent that you can’t use the same tactics on him as you would use on normal people. He’s too smart for that. He may act like he accepts you in charge, but you know that’s just a front. He biding his time until he can take center stage. You actually admire that about him. He’ll have his time to shine. You’ll make sure of it. 

If you weren’t so lost in your own thoughts, you would have realized how quiet the showers suddenly were. It’s not until you hear the click of the door that you pause and listen. Nothing. Not a word or another shower besides your own. You glance from side to side, your heart thumping wildly in your chest as your brain registers the fact that you are completely alone. 

Slowly you turn the water off and grab a towel from the nearby rack, wrapping it around yourself. 

There’s a soft splash as someone’s shoe steps in a puddle, and you spin around just in time to see Richard charge at you. He grabs you by the throat and slams you against the wall, your back missing the shower knob by inches. 

“You have caused me nothing but grief since you got here!” he snarls, hand wrapped around your throat. 

With a strangled scream you rake your nails across his face, making his briefly let you go as he cries out in shock. You try to get away but he tackles you to the wet ground. Unable to catch yourself, you smash your knee on the tile in the process, the sudden severe pain making your whole body tense. Adrenaline is coursing through your veins, and you throw your elbow back to land right in his eye. Once more he lets you go and you scramble to your feet, towel falling as you try to run for the exit. 

But your knee is on fire and the floor is slippery. You skid and lose your balance, crashing into the wall. Richard recovers quicker than you anticipate and throws himself against you. 

“We could have done this the easy way. You could have accepted my offer and been done with it. It had to be this way because you thought you were so much smarter than me,” Richard snaps. 

He forces you to look at him, and you can see his eye already swelling from your elbow. Your nails left streaks of blood across his face and it’s incredibly satisfying. He overpowers you this time, both hands wrapped so tight around your throat, you can’t breathe. You claw at his hands, but this time he doesn’t let go. Panic starts to set in, and you instinctively struggle harder. 

From behind him, a figure comes around the corner, moving silently out of the shadows. 

“You’re going to learn once and for all who’s really in charge!” Richard declares. The rustling of his pants falling to the ground is louder than the pounding of blood in your ears. Your vision starts to grow fuzzy, but not before you recognize Jerome as the man behind Richard. 

You smile and try to speak. But it only comes out in gurgles. 

Richard loosens his grip slightly. “What was that? Ready to finally beg?” 

“Do...you...know...what makes the best jokes?” you croak, grinning. “Those with punchlines you don't see coming.” 

Richard notices you look past him and turns around in time to receive a pipe to the face. He lets you go instantly and you drop to your knees, coughing and gasping. 

Jerome laughs as Richard tries to scramble away. The redhead takes another swing, sending Richard to the floor. “Richard, Richard, Richard,” he sings, pacing in front of him. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about our arrangement.” 

Richard struggles to his feet. “You’re dead you little shit—”

Jerome holds the pipe like a baseball bat and swings. It hits Richard in the face with a sickening crack and he goes down. Giggling gleefully, Jerome starts to dance around him. “See, my new partnership with Queenie comes with perks that our arrangement didn’t have,” he says. “More security for one, access to this place at night for another, and a part in the grand scheme she’s got going on. I don’t know what that is just yet, but since you’re not actually planning or scheming anything, I’m already doing better.” 

Richard tries to get up again, but Jerome hits him back down, smile transforming into a sinister sneer. “And that means, she needs to be able to trust me.” Another hit with the pipe catches him across the cheek, splitting it open. “Now, I trust her. She hasn’t given me any reason not to. I mean, she’s teased the fuck out of me, given me blue balls for days, but it’s fine. I can handle that. Because I know the payoff is going to be much sweeter.” 

Blood is spewing from Richard’s mouth as he tries to talk, but nothing comes out. His face is an absolute mess and you can’t help but smirk with pride as you get to your feet. Jerome stops his pacing long enough for you to come stand beside him, draping your arm over his shoulder. 

“Here’s the thing, Richie,” Jerome says, leaning on the pipe like a cane, while one arm slides around your waist. “The reason why Queenie wins out in the end is because she knows she’s so much better than this place.” He points with the pipe. “You on the other hand, will never be better than this. You’re a two bit CEO who decided he’s nice and comfy here because he can be in charge and not have to get his hands dirty. You peaked. Shot your load too soon.” He leans over to add to you in a stage whisper. “Something that apparently happens  _ a lot _ …” 

“You...filthy...fucks are going to die,” Richard pants, spitting blood on the floor. 

“Yeah, see, you keep saying that, but we’re not the ones bleeding out in the showers,” you say, stepping away from Jerome to kneel close to Richard. “Honestly, Richard, Jerome is wasted on someone like you. Someone who doesn’t appreciate his raw talent and potential. I noticed it the second he came through those doors. I suspect you did as well. Which is why you swooped him up before I could get to him. Tried to keep him under your thumb. But that was your biggest mistake, Richie. A mistake I almost made. But trust me, I won't.” 

You smile up at Jerome, who offers you his hand. Graciously taking it, you allow him to pull you to your feet, crushing you to his side as he steals a harsh kiss. 

“You just have to let him be free,” you say. 

Jerome gives your bare ass a slap and steps away, doing a small jig as he gives the pipe a few practice swings. Richard is too hurt to get up. He curls on his side, watching you two. But it’s no longer anger you see on his face, it’s fear. Pure, unfiltered, fear. It's thrilling. 

“Alright, alright, next up is Jerome Valeska, putting for the first time in a long time,” Jerome calls in a mock announcer voice. He moves to stand by Richard’s head, lining up the shot as if he’s golfing. “Now, this is a surprise, instead of a club he’s using a rusty pipe he pulled off the wall. Really, this place is shitty and needs to be taken better care of. What do you think, Queenie? Think I can make the shot?”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” you say. “Better take a few practice swings to be sure.” 

Jerome gives you a nod and a salute, before looking back at Richard. “Sorry, Mr. Sionis,” he mocks. “But you know how business goes.” 

Suddenly, there’s banging on the bathroom door and Jerome grunts angrily as the guards’ yells echo through the room. They are trying to break the locked door down. “Guess I don’t have time to practice. Oh well!” 

He lifts the pipe, but just before he can swing, the door bursts open. 

Thinking fast, you grab a towel to cover yourself and cower behind Jerome, bursting into loud, noisy tears. Jerome pretends to be defending you, shielding your body protectively. “Shh, it’s okay, Queenie, it’s okay,” he says in a dramatically soothing voice. “He can’t hurt you anymore.” 

Richard is too wounded to speak, choking on blood as he passes out on the floor just as the guards round the corner.

“Oh thank goodness you guys showed up!” Jerome exclaims to the guards, dropping the pipe. “Poor Queenie here was being attacked by Mr. Sionis! If I hadn’t shown up, god knows what he would have done to her.” 

You wail loudly for effect as the guards try to make sense of what’s going on. It really is the perfect story. You’re naked and shaking, Richard is knocked out cold with his pants around his ankles. Why would they suspect otherwise? Given the horrible things that happen there all the time anyways, and the incident from the other day. You suspect the only reason the guards are intervening is because they’re some of the new guards. Seem to be a lot of those lately, actually. 

You don’t have time to dwell on it though. You’ve got a story to sell. 

“H-H-He tried to t-t-touch me!” you cry, flinging yourself into Jerome’s arms. “Just like my father tried!”

“Shh, it’s okay, Queenie, you’re safe now,” Jerome hugs you close.

Someone who looks a bit more authoritative than the others steps forward. You think his name is Captain Port, or something like that. He’s a hard ass who you haven’t been able to crack yet, but have left alone because he had lost the will to give a shit. He sucks his teeth and spits on the floor. 

“Get him emergency care,” he shouts, gesturing to the broken and bleeding Sionis. “And get her to the infirmary in the women's ward so the fucking nurse can check her out. Valeska, you’re on lock-down for the next forty-eight hours!” 

“No, don’t take Jerome away!” you scream as they try to separate you. “He’s the only one who kept the bad man away! Please!” You burst into fresh tears as Jerome keeps his arms locked around you. 

“Alright ALRIGHT! He can go with you!” Port snaps. “Just stop your fucking crying. Caswell, take them to the infirmary.” 

One of the men, who you now recognize as the guard you gave a squeezer to three days ago, steps forward with a nod and gestures for you two to come with him. Jerome grabs a fresh towel and wraps it around you, as you feign weakness and lean into him. It's actually not entirely for effect, given how much your knee hurts.

Still hiccuping, hot tears streaming down your face, you leave the bathroom with the guard ahead of you. Giving you and Jerome the chance to share twin smirks. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here’s the deal. I was originally going to wait until tomorrow to post this, but then I remembered that my family is coming to visit this weekend and I’ll be spending all night tomorrow cleaning. So my pain is your gain! Because of said family, the next part won’t be out until sometime early next week. It’s my son’s birthday this weekend and I haven’t seen my family since August, so computer/writing time will be not possible. Enjoy!

 

Caswell leads you and Jerome to the infirmary. As soon as you step through the door however, your tears stop and you wave him off. He leaves you be without a word, closing the door behind him. Jerome suddenly grabs you and lifts you in a spin. 

“You...are...magnificent!” he gushes, putting you back down. He’s staring at you with a mix of awe and excitement. “Shame we didn’t finish him off.” 

From the small office inside the infirmary, a tired looking nurse pokes her head out. When she sees it’s you she chuckles. “You in for the night?” she asks. 

“Yeah, Rona,” you say, unwrapping the towel from yourself so you can wring out your wet hair. “Sionis tried to come at me again. He’s looking pretty with his face all smashed up.”

It's then that you remember falling on your knee, and you look down to see that it's beginning to swell. Rona notices too and disappears for a moment, only to return with an ice pack and bandage. You wrap the towel around yourself once more and sit on a nearby bed so she can secure the pack to your knee. 

“Do you want to spend just the one night or you want me to recommend more?” she asks, as she works. 

“We’ll see,” you say. 

“Alright, just let me know. Clothes are in the cupboard as usual,” Rona says. She straightens her stance and motions to her office. “I’ll have the door closed and the blinds down. Knock if you need anything.” 

“You’re the best.” 

She gives you a nod and makes herself scarce. The room is empty say for you and Jerome, who is busy ogling your naked body as you drop the towel and move to grab some fresh clothes. He’s quick to stop you, hands seizing your waist to pull you flush against his chest. 

“Trust me yet?” he asks in your ear, tongue snaking out to trace along the shell. 

A hand moves along your hip towards your thigh, but you grab his wrist. “Yes, yes I do,” you respond. “And if you just wait a fucking second I can show you just how much I appreciate your services.” 

Jerome is off you instantly, whooping with joy as he jumps up onto the nearest bed. Pointing at you he says, “You’re sooo baaaad and I cannot  _ wait  _ to have sex with you!”

“Who said anything about sex?” you ask, grabbing a pair of pants from the cupboard. 

Jerome lets out a theatrical groan. “Come onnnnn, Queenie! Can’t you see how special we are together yet?” he practically begs, jumping off the bed to land in front of you. His eyes are alight with that infectious excitement, hands gesturing wildly. “Between the two of us, we don’t need anyone else. We can take over this whole stupid city. Just you and me, sweet cheeks!” Before you can pull up your pants completely, he manages to slap your ass. “Hehe, get it? Sweet cheeks?” He’s laughing now, jumping back into the bed. 

Rolling your eyes with a smirk, you finish dressing as he continues to bounce. “You’re getting ahead of yourself there, ace,” you say. “There are a lot of things we need to do first.” 

“It’s going to happen,” he says. “You know it is. I know it is. We’re going to bone. It will be the stuff of fantasies and then we’re going to rule the world. You’ll see.” 

Laughing, you hobble across the room to one of the beds in the corner. From previous visits you know it’s the most comfortable, so you claim it as your own every time you stay here. Jerome hops from bed to bed as he follows you, until he’s forced to drop down onto the floor. Then, without warning, he tackles you to the bed as you move to lay down. 

It knocks the wind out of you, and you find yourself pinned beneath him. “Watch the knee!”

Jerome grins, carefully avoiding your injury. “Gotcha,” he says, before diving in for a kiss. 

But before he can get it, you wrap your legs around his waist and flip him onto his back. Dear god is it painful to put even slight pressure on your knee, but the look on his face is worth it as he stares up at you with delight. 

“Alright, so if not sex, what then?” he asks, hands folded behind his head. “How are you going to let me know how much you appreciate me?” 

“I was going to suck your dick,” you tell him, nuzzling his cheek. “For starters.” 

Jerome growls, gripping your hair and shoving you down his body. You oblige; he has earned it after all. You slip your fingers under the waistband of his pants and wait for him to lift his hips so you can pull the garment down all the way. He’s forgone underwear and his cock springs free, half hard already. 

Normally, you would get right to it. But this is Jerome, and you want to take your time with him. Once his pants are tossed to the floor, you run your hands up his pale thighs, fingers tracing the smattering of freckles. 

He's magnificent. 

His long cock is thick with arousal, the large vein along the side just begging to be traced by your tongue. You lean down and place the gentlest of kisses on the leaking tip, drawing a grunt out of him as you swipe away the precum. Instead of taking him into your mouth, you bypass his shaft to suck greedily on his inner thigh. 

Jerome's hands immediately tangle into your hair, tugging impatiently. “Get on with it,” he demands. 

“Fuck off,” you respond. “You should be honored I'm taking my time to enjoy this.”

You bite down on his inner thigh and he cries out, a noise that sounds like a mix of pain and excitement. Kissing the spot apologetically, you start to slowly stroke him with a firm pump of your hand. Jerome twitches and moves underneath you as you suck hard on the spot you bit, finally marking him. Your hand tightens around his shaft, jacking him roughly.  

You stare at the mark you made and can't help but feel possessive. Knowing that bite will be there for days fills you with pride. After all this time, he's finally yours, and in that moment you know that you'll do anything to keep it that way. 

While you're admiring your handiwork, he makes a noise of frustration. But you silence him by running your tongue up his entire length. The action draws out a gasp of delight. He's smooth on your tongue and grows even harder. Without warning, he thrusts himself past your lips. It nearly gags you, and would have if you hadn't been anticipating the roughness. You pin his hips to the bed, relax your throat, and take him in as far as you can.

He makes the most beautiful moan you've ever heard in your life. Twisting his fingers through your hair, he yanks on the strands encouragingly. You slide him out so just the tip rests between your lips, before taking him again until he hits the back of your throat. Jerome swears. With one hand stroking what you can’t swallow, you start a steady up and down pace, head bobbing in his lap while your tongue glides along the underside of his cock. 

Every one of your senses are invaded by Jerome. From the smell of his musk and arousal, to the slightly bitter drops you keep swallowing greedily, your entire focus is drawn to him. And only him. After wanting him for so long, watching him, fantasizing about him when you had another man's cock in your mouth...to look up and see him staring back at you is more than you can handle. You close your eyes and savor the taste of him. 

Jerome is writhing underneath your ministrations, nails digging into your scalp as he wrestles you for control. He wants to thrust into your mouth, and is clearly frustrated that you won't let him. Eyes dragging back open, you glance up at him, making sure he sees that you're smirking, though your mouth is stretched wide around his prick.  

You're not prepared for the flush of his cheeks, or his pink tongue darting out to wet his dry lips. Blue eyes have transformed to black again and are glittering in the infirmary lights. It makes the throbbing between your own thighs even worse. Pulling off him, you gasp for breath, hand still stroking his length. 

“Wanted this for awhile now, puddin’,” you mutter, lips dragging along that thick vein you were admiring earlier. “This is the start of a wonderful relationship.”

Jerome exhales with a frustrated huff. “It would be if you would just get on with it,” he grunts.

You pause your movements, cocking an eyebrow. “ _ Excuse me? _ ” you say with mock offense. “Was that not good enough?”

“I thought you weren't going to hold me back,” he teases, still trying to thrust upward. “You gonna let me fuck that mouth of yours?”

“Maybe.”

Placing feather light kisses, you keep stroking him, purposefully easing up on his hips. Jerome, determined to get what he wants, notices the change. When you swirl your tongue around the head lewdly, he grips your head tight and takes advantage of your open mouth, thrusting himself back in with a breathless laugh.

Gagging, your throat constricts around the intrusion. Jerome groans loudly, the sensation squeezing his cock. His hands loosen a little, enough to prevent you from choking completely. Though, you wouldn't mind it if he did. God you want him to just choke you, use your mouth until he explodes. His dominance makes you whimper excitedly, the vibrations drawing another groan out of the shuddering man. 

Knowing he can’t be stopped, and not wanting him to, you let him fuck your mouth. He gags you almost every thrust in and if you didn't need your hands to hold onto his thighs, you’d be touching yourself. This. This is the Jerome you've been dying to know. You're finally seeing that side of him you've only caught glimpses of. That possessive, brutal, dominating animal you want to unleash. 

Jerome doesn't take his eyes off your face, lips twisted up into a gleeful grin. The sight of his cock pumping in and out of your mouth seems to excite him even further. He buries himself to the hilt, and keeps it there. Your head spins from lack of oxygen and your eyes water, but you continue staring up at him until he withdraws with a grunt. 

It doesn't take long for his cock to grow impossibly hard against your tongue, and then he's doubling over, holding your head still so he can come into your throat. 

You swallow around him enthusiastically, not wanting to waste a single drop.

Jerome keeps thrusting until he's spent, finally stopping so he can fall against the bed, panting. You pry his hand out of your hair, allowing you to sit up. He slips from your mouth as you do, leaving a line of his seed down your chin. You're too busy gasping for air to notice. With heavy-lidded eyes, Jerome reaches out to wipe the trail with his thumb. You seize his hand, licking the digit clean. 

You've barely caught your breath when Jerome grabs you, bringing you into a crushing kiss. You find yourself pinned beneath him once more, his hand shoving your shirt up. That wonderful mouth finds one of your nipples and he sucks greedily. Part of your brain is sending off warning bells, because letting him pleasure you is not part of the current plan. Truth be told, none of your friends have been privileged with the opportunity. It suited them just fine. They were selfish and only cared for their own pleasure. 

Not to mention your knee is killing you, distracting from your arousal. Slightly. 

But with every swirl of his tongue, every tug of his lips, your resolve melts away. His teeth press down ever so tantalizingly and your already slick thighs grow wetter. Jerome is even more selfish than any of your other partners. Because he wants every bit of you he can take. And he won’t stop until he has it.

“Finger me,” you order, voice hoarse and nearly guttural. “You can touch me now, Jerome.”

A low laugh finds its way out of him and he lifts his head to grin devilishly at you. “Yes, your majesty,” he mocks, hand sliding under the waistband of your pants. 

His journey downward suddenly stops and he moves your bottoms down to look at your thighs. Fingers ghosting over your scars, he glances at you curiously. “Where did these come from?”

“Self inflicted,” you say, reaching down to trace some of the lines yourself. “Of course, now that I know what it's like to cut someone else, I no longer have the urge.”

“It’s exhilarating isn't it?” Jerome growls, hand skimming further down. “To watch the life drain from their eyes as the blade cuts into them…”

“Didn't get the pleasure,” you tell him. “He was asleep.”

“Next time,” Jerome promises, biting your breast. His teeth dig into the sensitive flesh not hard enough to pierce, but almost, and it sends shots of heat right down to your very core. 

You gasp, wrapping your arms around him. “Next time.”

There’s no hesitance. No teasing. No gentleness of any kind as he furiously begins to rub two fingers along your slick folds. Your hips shoot skyward instantly, but he pins them down with his arm. That mouth. Oh that wondrous, painful, sinful mouth latches onto your neck. You’re still sore from Richard’s attack, but Jerome doesn’t care. He sucks hard on the red marks that are already decorating your skin, and it takes a moment for you to grasp what he’s doing. 

He’s trying to reclaim you. Covering Richard’s marks with his own. The thought helps you push through the pain and actually makes you even more aroused. Which really should not be possible given the circumstances. Two fingers plunge into you unexpectedly and you arch your back, pressing your chest to his in a futile attempt to get closer. 

With his fingers pumping in and out of you, his thumb spreads your wetness around your swollen clit, pressing down hard. It’s too much for you to handle and you cry out, hands buried in his hair. Feeling his smile against your skin makes you grin in return. 

“You gonna come for me, Queenie?” he groans in your ear. 

“Make me, puddin’.”

His fingers brush that spot deep inside and you nearly scream as the pleasure becomes all too much to handle and you come, thighs clamping around his hand. Wave after wave of ecstasy washes over you, giving you one of the most explosive orgasms of your life. 

Jerome keeps going, rubbing your overstimulated clit as you come down from your orgasm. Even when you grab his wrist he doesn't relent. You moan and squirm underneath him. 

“Too much,” you whine. 

“Commmeee onnnn, you can take it, Queenie,” Jerome purrs. “You've got another one in you.”

You thrash your head from side to side, but he silences your protest with another kiss. Your body is drenched in sweat and you're shaking like mad. Even still, after a few minutes you can feel the telltale signs of another orgasm approaching. It's way too soon. You've never come this quickly without any kind of recovery. This time when it peaks, it's a beautiful mix of pleasure and pain. Fluid rushes from between your legs to coat Jerome’s hand and he laughs triumphantly. 

“That's it, doll. Knew you had it in you.”

Officially over stimulated beyond belief, you smack him so he'll back off. He does this time, patting your inner thigh. There's not much room on the bed. You’re squished beneath Jerome, who has buried his face in your sore neck. Silence falls as you both struggle to catch your breath.

Minutes later, after you manage to get rid of your soaked pants, you both lay facing each other on the small bed, limbs tangled together. The pain in your knee is near excruciating, but you don't want to move. It's one of the only times you've seen Jerome still and you like to think it's because you sucked the energy out of him. 

“This plan of yours, Queenie,” he slurs, clearly trying to stay awake. “When do we put it into action?”

“Soon,” you say, pulling the blanket up over you both. “Very, very soon.”

“What is it?”

You smirk and steal a kiss. “I'm getting out of here,” you whisper to him. “But, you knew that already, didn't you?”

He grins excitedly, sleep suddenly nowhere to be found. “I knew you had something big in the works,” he admits. “It was the only thing that made sense.”

With a chuckle, you drape yourself over his chest as he shifts onto his back. “Well, if you haven’t guessed it already, I’m taking you with me,” you say. “We’re going to get out of here and I'm going to finish what I started.”

“Excellent! What do you need me to do?”

“Oh, I have the perfect job for you, Jerome,” you grin. “You'll see.”

“Does it include getting each other off?” he asks. 

You laugh. “Well, that’s one job,” you say. “The other one is a little more...complicated. But the payoff will be worth it.” 

Laughing, Jerome pulls you into a kiss. “Whatever you need, Queenie,” he says, before sucking on your bottom lip. “ _ Whatever  _ you need. I’ll help you, and you’ll help me.” 

You raise your eyebrow, giving him another peck for asking, “And how exactly will I be helping you?” 

“All in good time,” Jerome responds, hands shoving your shirt up again. “All in good time.” 


	6. Chapter 6

 

Therapy is an unfortunate part of the routine at Arkham. You’ve had a number of therapist throughout your two years, but Dr. Leslie Thompkins is by far your favorite. 

For the most part, you feel like she isn't fazed by the things you say. All the other ones you were able to spook away or bribe. But Dr. Thompkins is different. She rarely shows any negative emotions and has a way of speaking that actually makes you want to talk back. Not about anything important of course. Even that doesn’t seem to bother her. She’ll sigh or give you a stern voice from time to time. Otherwise, she plays along. 

Since the biting incident, you’ve been dreading this session because you know she’s going to ask you about it. She’s going to try to make you analyze why you did it. She probably would think there was deeper meaning other than self defense. And now with Richard’s attack, she’s going to be even more keen on getting you to open up. 

As you enter her office, she’s already sitting in her desk chair, which she has rolled out in front of her desk. A notepad is balanced on her lap. She smiles politely and greets you by name, before offering you the couch in front of her. You always pride yourself on noticing changes within people, and there certainly is a change about her. Her face is brighter, she seems relaxed and the smile isn’t forced. It's a change that started some time ago and hasn't gone away yet. 

Per usual, you bypass the couch. “Hey, Dr. T,” you say, wandering around her office, messing with things on the shelves. 

“How are you?” she asks. “It’s been a long time since your last session.” 

“Yeah well, been busy.” 

“So I’ve heard,” Lee says. “We don’t have to talk about it right away if you don’t want to. We can talk about  something else first.” 

“What do  _ you  _ want to talk about, Leslie?” you mock, dropping onto her couch. 

Lee sighs and gives you a pointed look. “Dr. Thompkins or Dr. T is fine,” she says. “And it’s not about me. We’re here to talk about you. As we always are.” 

“Yeah, but I get bored of that,” you say. “We can talk about you for a bit.” 

Lee shakes her head. “You know the drill. We can talk about me, when you decide to talk about yourself,” she says. “I don’t mind sharing details. But you have to work with me here.”

“But you’re so cute when you’re riled up.” 

Normally that flusters her, but this time she just chuckles. “The compliment is appreciated. Do you think you’re ready to tackle your father’s murder?” 

“Ugh, we’ve talked about it a  _ thousand  _ times,” you sigh dramatically, stretching out across the couch. “What more do you want to know? The brand of knife? I don’t have that answer.” 

It was a Shun Classic. 

“Yes, we’ve talked about what happened in great detail, when you’ve been up for it,” Lee agrees. “But until we start diving deeper into the meaning behind what you did, you’re never going to make any true progress. Remember, this is about you, and your recovery.” 

“I don’t need recovery,” you say. “I’m not recovering from anything. I’m just peachy, thanks.” 

She says your name, her tone serious. “You’re not,” she tells you. “Two years ago, you slipped into your father’s room and murdered him in his bed. Then you went after his wife. Out of the blue. That’s not ‘peachy’. And it’s something I don’t think you’ve come to terms with.” 

You laugh. “Oh I’ve come to terms with it, believe me,” you say. “It really wasn’t as out of the blue as you think, Doc.”

Lee regards you curiously. “Did you plan to murder your father?” she asks. 

Bold. She’s never asked that one before. You always wondered if she was trying to give you the benefit of the doubt, to assume you just snapped and killed him in a crime of passion or something. For her to outright ask you if you planned it felt more like an interrogation question than a therapy question. Curious. 

You shrug. “Meh, not necessarily,” you say. “I just knew there was a very distinct possibility that I would. He was the one creeping around his daughter’s room at night. Talk about problems.” You turn to face her and prop your head up with your hand. “But back to you for a second. How’s your life been, Dr. T? Seeing anyone? You know my offer still stands.” 

Lee gives you a slight eye roll. “I’m not sleeping with you,” she says in a flat tone. 

“Ooo, and yet you ignore the question about your love life,” you say excitedly, sitting up. “Dr. T, are you in looooove with someone?”

Now her cheeks flush slightly and she clears her throat. “My personal life is not what we’re discussing right now,” she says. 

So that’s a yes then. 

“But I bet it’s far more interesting than what I have going on,” you lie. “Everything’s the same here.”

“You bit a piece out of a man’s arm,” Lee says. “That’s not the ‘same’. You’ve never done that before. Sure you’ve gotten into fights, but you’ve never bitten anyone.” 

“He pissed me off.” 

“Still, that’s quite a jump,” Lee points out. “Was there a particular reason for it besides that?”

Richard had punched Jerome. You know that your possessive nature had kicked it, and in that moment you would have done anything to protect your boy. Because, he definitely is. Has been since the moment you laid eyes on him. Whether he knows it or not. Though, you're willing to bet he does, considering the bite you gave him was a clear enough sign. You suppose that’s that answer to her question, but you decide not to tell her. 

When you purposefully don’t answer, Lee waves her hand dismissively. “We can move on,” she suggests. “How are you making friends?” At your grin she adds, “Actual friends. Not what you consider friends.” 

“You mean people I jack off and blow in exchange for services?”

You can just see the inward sigh. “As we’ve discussed, those can hardly be considered friends,” Lee says. “I mean, friends who you don’t use and who don’t try to use you.” 

“Everyone uses everyone, Doc,” you tell her, laying down. “It’s what makes the world go round. The earlier you learn that no one is going to be there for you but you, the better off you’ll be.”

“That’s a very sad and lonely thought,” Lee says. 

You shrug. “Suppose so,” you say. “Doesn’t make it any less true.” You listen to her scribble notes onto her notepad, curious as to what she’s writing. 

“Are you in pain?” she suddenly asks. You look at her curiously until she gestures to your neck. “That looks painful. And I noticed more bruising on your wrist. Your knee’s also in a brace. You may not want to talk about biting that man, but we definitely need to talk about what happened yesterday in the showers.”

The brace is a precaution more than a necessity, and truthfully, you forgot about the bruises on your neck. You run your fingers over them, grinning slightly. “Oh yeah, those,” you say, remembering Jerome’s mouth sucking violently at your skin. “Nah, I’m great.” 

Lee looks a little confused at the response. “Great is a strange word to use,” she says. “Richard Sionis attacked you in the showers and attempted to force himself on you.”

“But he didn’t actually do it,” you say.

“True, but he  _ tried  _ to,” Lee says. 

“And now he won’t ever again,” you smile. “Jerome made sure of that.” 

As soon as the name slips out, you know you’ve made a mistake. Lee stops writing immediately. Very slowly, she lifts her head to look you in the eye. “Jerome Valeska?” she asks, glancing up at you. “I wasn’t aware that you two spoke.” 

Despite yourself, you smirk. “Oh, we speak, Dr. T,” you say. “Quite a bit. Didn’t you know that he was the one who saved me? I figured it would be in your little reports.” 

“I saw the name,” Lee says, putting her pen down and clasping her hands together. “I wasn’t sure what your relationship with him was. Judging by your tone and smile, I’m assuming there’s something there. Are you close with Jerome?” 

“Well, he had his cock in my mouth and then his fingers inside me yesterday, so yeah, I’d say we’re pretty close.”

No matter how many sessions you’ve had, no matter what you’ve said, you’ve never gotten a reaction out of Lee. And it wasn’t for lack of trying. But, for some reason, as soon as she hears you and Jerome have been fooling around, she places her notepad on the desk behind her and gives you her full attention. 

“You never mention the sexual favors you receive,” Lee says bluntly.

“That's because it doesn’t happen.”

Lee studies you carefully. “When did this start?” she asks. 

“Couple of days ago,” you say with a shrug. “Why? You want details? I can give you all the juicy tidbits. He’s quite good with his hands. I can introduce you if you want.” 

“Oh, I’ve met Jerome,” Lee says, putting up her hand to silence you. “And I don't want any details, thanks. That’s not what this is about. You say you started seeing him a couple of days ago, right around the time you took a bite out of someone’s arm.” 

“Please, don’t say ‘seeing him’ like we’re dating or something,” you say. “We’re…” You smirk at her. “Friends.” 

Lee’s eyebrows go up and she looks completely unamused. “Friends,” she repeats. 

“ _ Best  _ friends.”

You can see she wants to say something, but she’s holding herself back, trying to find the right words. “Was Richard Sionis hurting Jerome when you bit that man?” she asks.

Boy did she hit the nail on the head. “He might have been.” 

“And then Jerome beats Sionis with a pipe for attacking you,” she relays, as if requesting confirmation. You nod and she sits back in her chair, trying to appear relaxed. You can tell she’s anything but. When she says your name, it’s guarded. 

“Let’s be frank here. You enjoy putting yourself in dangerous situations,” she says.

“Define ‘dangerous'.”

“Jerome Valeska is a dangerous person,” Lee continues, ignoring your sass. 

“Yeah but I'm not putting myself in him. You've gotta build up to that sort of thing first.”

“Good lord, that's not what I meant!”

“I know what you meant. We’re all dangerous, Doc,” you tell her. “That’s why we’re locked up.” 

“Exactly,” Lee says. “I just think, getting involved with another inmate at this stage of your recovery could be detrimental to your mental health.” 

“You do realize that just makes me ten times more attracted to him, right?” you ask. 

Lee sighs heavily, almost as if she was afraid that’d be your response. “I understand that,” she says. “And I understand how lonely your life was--”

“I’m going to stop you right there, Leslie,” you say, resting your elbows on your knees as you lean forward. “What Jerome and I have is special. I’ve wanted him since the moment I heard about him. There's just something about him that calls to me. The second I saw him, it was...indescribable. I cannot even begin to tell you all the naughty fantasies I’ve dreamt up over the last year. We haven't done much, but what we have done is nothing like what I've experienced in the past. And now that I finally have him, nothing...I repeat,  _ nothing _ , will make me give him up. You’d have to pry him from my cold dead hands.” 

Lee studies you for a moment. “I've never heard you be this passionate about another person before. I'm surprised to hear this...infatuation with Jerome isn’t new,” she says. “You’ve never mentioned him in any of our previous sessions.”

“Maybe you weren’t asking the right questions,” you smirk, propping your chin in your hand. Like you would really discuss something so personal with her. You're already kicking yourself for letting slip what you just did. 

Lee stares at you for a good long while, and you can see the myriad of emotions pass across her face. “What did you feel when you saw Richard punch Jerome?”

“Anger,” you answer without hesitation. 

“Because he was hurting your ‘best friend’,” Lee supplies. 

“Because he was hurting what’s  _ mine _ .” 

The silence in the room is almost deafening, and now suddenly there’s tension. You’re on edge, eager to see what Lee’s going to ask next, while she’s processing your reaction. Most of the time, you don’t give her much emotion to analyze. It's actually a bit exciting not knowing what she's going to say next. After a long time, she uncrosses her legs and gives you a smile. 

“I think that’s enough for today,” she says, voice neutral with a tinge of fake pleasantries. “We’ll pick up again in a couple days.”  

You leave Dr. Thompkins office with a frown. That's it? You were hoping for more of a response. How disappointing. 

There’s an unpleasant feeling in the pit of your stomach, like something bad is going to happen. And not the good kind of bad. The kind that could throw a wrench in your plans. 

You’re so deep in thought, it takes you a second to notice Jerome waiting for you when you turn the corner. He pushes off the wall, draping his arm around your shoulders, steering you in the direction of the cafeteria. “What’s with the frown, doll?” 

“I’m worried,” you tell him, keeping your voice low just in case anyone happens to be listening. 

Jerome’s smile fades and he’s frowning now too. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Dr. Thompkins,” you say. 

“Do we need to get rid of her?” 

You wave a dismissive hand. “No, no, nothing like that,” you say. “Well...not yet anyways. It’s nothing I can’t handle on my own. We just need to be careful.” 

Jerome nods. “Alright, whatever you say, Queenie,” he says, arm slipping off your shoulders. “Let’s go get some dinner. I’m starving. What’s on the agenda for tonight?” 

“Nothing,” you say. “We need to keep a low profile. We’ve drawn far too much attention to ourselves already, and my knee isn't entirely recovered yet. Our timetable is good so we can take a night off.” 

“Uggh, so I  _ still  _ won’t get to run around with you at night?” Jerome groans. “Bullshit. Complete bullshit.” 

You chuckle and slide your hand into his. “Soon, sweets, soon. Promise.” 

Though you're hungry, being this close to Jerome has your libido going crazy. Without warning, you tug him in the direction of a nearby closet. He grins excitedly, allowing you to drag him inside. 

“In the meantime,” you say, slamming the door shut and pulling Jerome in close. “Touch me.”

Jerome snarls and slams you against the door, drawing an excited squeal out of you. “I'm gonna do more than that,” he promises. “I'm gonna make you scream.”

You hook your arm around his neck, lining yourself along him, pressing every curve into him. “Do it. I dare you.”

Your mouths collide hungrily. 

  
  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update won’t be for a little while. But I think this will definitely hold you guys over until then. ;)

 

That sinking feeling stays with you. It’s still in the pit of your stomach when you wake several days later. 

Just like every morning, you wait for the guard to bring you to breakfast, where you find Aaron standing by your preferred table. You sit, and enjoy your food. However, this time, you’re there for nearly thirty minutes before you realize: no Jerome. 

You look everywhere for the signature red hair, but he’s noticeably absent from the room. Panic sets in momentarily, until you remember your talk with your guard friends to keep an eye on him. You know, just in case Sionis’s small amount of allies got any ideas. As far as you’re aware, the man himself is still in recovery. 

“Aaron,” you say to the big man. “Have you seen Jerome?”

Aaron frowns and shakes his head. “No.”

Swearing under your breath, you see Arnold walking by and call out to him. “Dobkins! Get over here!” 

He jumps at his name, and looks fearful when he sees it’s you. However, he immediately comes over to stand by the table. “Yeah?”

“Where’s Jerome?” you ask. 

Arnold shrugs. “Dunno. Haven’t seen him. Do you want me to find out? I can go look for you.” 

Well that was easy. Before you can respond, a familiar voice calls to you from the next table. “I know where he is.” 

You turn and groan as you find Greenwood staring. “Do you actually know or are you just trying to seem like you do so I think you’re useful?” you ask bluntly. 

Greenwood grins. “I actually know.” 

Sighing, you push your tray to the side and wave him over. Greenwood is quick to abandon his table, coming to sit across from you. Dobkins looks twitchy, like he doesn’t know if he’s wanted anymore. He’s about to take off when Aaron forces him into the seat next to Greenwood.

“Where’s Jerome?” you ask Greenwood. 

“They changed his rotation,” the cannibal answers. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, they put him on a different schedule,” Greenwood explains. “Usually me, Aaron, Dobkins, and him are brought to breakfast together. But they skipped him this time. Said he’ll be in the next round.” 

What the fuck? Why? That doesn’t make sense. Why would they suddenly change his schedule around?

“Do you know why?” you ask. “Did the guards say anything else?”

Greenwood shrugs. “That’s all I heard.” 

You turn to Dobkins, who perks up at the attention. “Go, see if you can find him and figure out what rotation they put him on,” you order. “Report back to me as soon as you do.” 

Dobkins nods and bolts out of his seat, eager to please. As soon as he leaves, you look at Greenwood. “You still want in?” you ask. 

He nods with a grin. 

“Good, here’s what you need to do,” you say, leaning in to speak low so your voice won’t travel. “I need you to find out which room Sionis is in and what his condition is. Mostly because I’m curious. Next, I’m going to need to know which of the guards are on his staff. I have a rough idea, but I need names. I also want you to try to find out if any are distancing themselves from him. If so, subtly let them know I’m interested. If you can do those things, and actually do them well, then you’re in.” 

Greenwood nods excitedly. “Piece of cake,” he says, getting up from his chair. “I’m on it.” 

You watch him go, hands twitching with nervous energy. You don’t like this at all. Not seeing Jerome is the absolute worst thing for you at the moment. He’s essential to your plan. You need him by your side. Not to mention it had been days since he’s touched you, and you were hoping to shove him into a closet somewhere so you could get your fix. 

Greenwood and Dobkins don’t return by the time you have to leave for the rec room. In fact, you don't see either of them again until yard time. Greenwood returns and discretely passes you a slip of paper. 

“These men, they'll turn over,” he assures you.

“They better,” you warn. “And the other information?”

Greenwood takes a seat next to you on the picnic table. “East wing,” he says. “Still in the infirmary. He's stable but in a really bad way. He'll be bedridden for a long time.”

“Excellent,” you smirk, slipping the paper into your shirt. “Where's Dobkins?”

As if on cue, the scrawny man appears. “Jerome's in the rec room,” he announces. “And he's  _ not  _ happy.”

Well that’s somewhat comforting. They must have him one rotation behind you. Subtle. It's a slight enough change where, if you weren't already paranoid, would otherwise have gone unnoticed. 

The rest of the day is frustratingly boring. You don't see Jerome at all and it's angering. By the time night falls, you're waiting impatiently at the bars of your cell.

Lawrence lets you out and you give him the last of your cash. “Payment, per usual,” you say. 

“Pleasure,” he responds, tipping his hat. “Chuck sends his regards. Says everything should be in place by the end of the week.”

“Excellent,” you grin excitedly. “That’s very good news indeed. Come on, we need to get Jerome. Then I need you to go speak to these men.” You hand him a folded paper with the names Greenwood gave you. “Give them the usual spiel and then let Chuck know. Any questions on your whole role for that day?”

Lawrence shakes his head, closing your cell before walking with you down the hall. “Nope, pretty straightforward,” he says. “Honestly, it’s not that hard work for so much money. Whatever you need, count on me.”

“Aww, that’s sweet,” you smile at him, and though it’s dark, you’re sure that he’s blushing. How adorable. And completely misplaced.

Jerome is awake this time when you come to his cell. He’s sitting in the middle of his floor, legs crossed as he patiently waits. As soon as Lawrence unlocks his cell, a large grin spreads across his face. “Is it finally play time?” he asks. 

You smirk and beckon him forward. “Let’s go.” 

You and Jerome go one direction, while Lawrence goes the other to take care of business. 

It’s wonderfully dangerous running around with Jerome in the dark asylum. You’re like small children playing a game of hide and seek, ducking around corners and hiding in closets as guards and doctors wander through the halls. You have a set destination in mind however, and when you finally reach the office, you find the door unlocked. 

Dr. Thompkins had gone home hours ago. This you know because she rarely stays late if she can avoid it. “What are we doing in here?” Jerome asks as he closes the door behind you. 

“I’d like to take a look at Dr. Leslie Thompkin’s little file she has on me,” you tell him, walking around the desk. You start rummaging through the papers. “I have a feeling she’s the reason we’re on different rotations. Which, if that’s the case, I want to know why.” 

Jerome has other ideas. He comes up behind you, slamming his hand down on top of yours as you try to pick up a piece of paper. “Or,” he says huskily, lips brushing your neck. “We can defile her desk.”

“Both sound good,” you grin, spinning around in his arms to face him. 

You hop up on the desk and cup his face in your hands, dragging him into a kiss. He moans loudly, grabbing your waist and instantly thrusting himself between your legs. Quick hands are tugging at your pants and you find yourself lifting your hips to assist him. He manages to get your pants down one leg and is too impatient to wrestle them off the other. 

“The fact that you never wear underwear is a complete distraction during the day, Queenie,” Jerome says, sitting in Lee’s chair. He spreads your legs and smirks up at you. “Now, why don’t you lay down while the doctor examines you?”

That grin, those eyes...the one light source is from outside and casts shadows across Jerome’s face that makes him look so sinister. You can’t help but go along for the ride. Laying down on the desk, you allow him to lift your legs over his shoulders. With a rough tug, he draws you closer, lips descending on your inner thigh. 

You’re just shifting around to get comfortable, when the corner of something pokes you in the shoulder blade. Annoyed, you sit up and grab it, only to find your file. 

“Oh hey, here it iss...ssssooohhhhh…”

Jerome takes that exact moment to run his tongue along your slit, effectively cutting of your train of thought for the moment. You drop the file next to you and squirm with delight. 

“Oh, Dr. Valeska,” you tease. “I didn’t know this was going to be an oral examination.”

Jerome laughs, hot breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh. “Well what the hell did you  _ think  _ I was going to do down here?” he asks. “Please, don’t let me stop you from your work.” He nods towards the folder under your hand. “Go on. Read it out loud. Let’s see what the good doctor thinks of you.” 

Grinning, you turn on the desk lamp. It's small, but casts enough light for you to see what you're reading. “These are some extensive reports,” you comment, breath catching in your throat as Jerome’s fingers spread you open. 

Glancing down, you watch as he examines you thoroughly. The tips of his fingers trace every fold carefully, and he looks completely drawn in by the mere sight of you. You can’t help but smile as you look back at the folder. Before you can even reach the first word, his mouth is on you, sucking greedily. You slam the file down on the desk as your back arches. 

“Fuck, Jerome!” you swear. “A little build up would be nice. Romance a girl first.” 

Jerome is laughing again, taking a swipe along your slit with the pad of his tongue. “Queenie, we don’t have much time. Don’t you have reading to do?”

You pick up the file and hit him on the head with it, before flipping to the most recent page. “‘Patient continues to evade discussing her true motives behind her father’s murder,’” you read. 

Jerome’s mouth is on you again, tongue continuing to stroke your folds as he softly hums to himself. Your body instantly relaxes and warms at the sensation. You bite back a sigh as you continue to read. 

“‘She is still soliciting sex, and delights in manipulating other.’ Well, she’s not wrong…” You trail off when Jerome circles your clit teasingly, before wrapping his lips around the nub and sucking. “ _ Shit  _ that’s good, puddin’,” you moan. “Fuck this file, let me just skip ahead.”

You flip a couple of pages to bypass the medical information. “Ah, here we go,” you say. Jerome slides a finger into you and you groan. “‘I continue to find her fascinating’...ohhhhhh—” You moan and lose focus for a moment, Jerome fingering you while his tongue continues to tease your nub.  “Mmm, you hear that, babe? She thinks I’m fascinating.” 

Jerome chuckles. “I would agree,” he says. “What else does it say?”

You’re having a hard time focusing now. He slides a second finger into you and you have to bite your lip to keep from crying out. Though, part of you is thrilled by the idea of someone listening in or even possibly finding you two in such a compromising position. Of course, you’d have to kill or bribe them so they won't tell.

When you manage to continue reading, you’re breathless. “‘My concerns lie in her new relationship with Jerome Valeska. While I am intrigued by the dynamic of two such strong personalities, I fear the outcome’.” At the mention of his own name, you can feel Jerome’s smile and he starts to finger you harder, his mouth closing around your clit. It’s almost as if he’s excited to hear about himself. “‘Both come from homes where they felt they were unwanted. Because of this, they are drawn to each other. I can only theorize that continued’... _ fuck _ …’exposure to each other will prove dangerous in the long term.’ Mmm, she thanks we’re dangerous together.” 

Jerome looks up at you, mouth still busy sucking greedily. The tips of his fingers brush that spot and you buck wildly, rocking the desk with your movements. 

“We are,” he manages to say between licks. “In the best way, Queenie.” 

You whimper, rocking along with his fingers. The heat is building and your shirt is now drenched in sweat. It’s difficult to concentrate, but you’re nothing if not persistent. “‘I’m afraid they will bring out—’” You moan loudly. “‘—the worst in each other, and that they won’t even see it that way. That’s why I’m requesting Valeska be immediately placed on a different rotation. Changing Patient’s schedule may arouse suspicion and trigger retaliation.’”

You can’t read anymore. You close the file and slam it down, freeing your hands so you can bury them in Jerome’s hair. The things his mouth and fingers are doing to your cunt are magical. It’s been so long. So long, since someone has had their mouth on you. And it was never like this. So greedy. So desperate. God you wish you could chain him to you so he’s forced to go down on you until his jaw aches. 

“What are we gonna do about this, Queenie?” Jerome purrs, the thumb of his other hand pressing down hard on your clit. 

“Shut up and keep going,” you order, chest heaving. “I’m getting close.” 

Jerome opens his mouth to respond, when he suddenly stops. Everything. Movement and talking. Your eyes fly open in a rage and you sit up, ready to scream at him, when his hand clamps over your mouth. It’s then that you hear it: footsteps.

Realizing that getting caught right now would fucking ruin everything, you turn off the lamp and allow Jerome to pull you off the desk. As you do, you manage to grab the letter opener. You know, just in case. The footsteps are getting louder, accompanied by voices now. Jerome pulls you under the desk with him, giggling as you swear under your breath. Thankfully the desk has a back to it so you’re shielded from the door, but there isn’t much space. You’re practically in his lap, holding your breath to try to stop panting. 

Damn it! Your cunt is throbbing badly and Jerome smells like you. He grins before kissing you, hand on the back of your head to keep you in place. You’re just about to smack him, when the door to the office opens and you hear Lee’s voice. 

“You honestly didn’t need to come with me, I could have done it myself,” she’s saying. 

You freeze, but Jerome doesn’t. His mouth latches onto your neck, while his hand slides between your legs. The action makes you melt against him, and you stifle a moan. Without realizing it, you’ve grabbed the letter opener by the blade and cut your hand in the process. The pain only adds to the excitement of the situation. 

“It’s no trouble, Lee. Besides, it means I get to spend more time with you,” Jim Gordon’s voice catches you off guard and suddenly it all makes sense. 

That’s why she’s so happy. She’s fucking the man who arrested you. Jerome draws his face back and you can see the recognition there as well. However, it doesn’t stop him from picking up where he left off before, fingering you so suddenly it takes all your willpower not to scream. His eyes drift to your hand with the letter opener, following the trail of blood that glides down your wrist. He leans forward and licks it away.

Lee’s laugh is pleasant, and the fact that they have no idea what’s going on under her desk just makes you even more turned on. “I told you I just needed to get my keys. The last thing I want is to be locked out of my own apartment,” she says. You hear her grab said keys off the desk. 

“Yeah, that would be a problem,” Jim says. “Especially since that would mean I’d be locked out too.” 

Nice one, Jimbo. 

Jerome holds the back of your neck so you’re face to face, noses practically pressed together. His thumb rubs circles around your clit and you can feel that elusive orgasm approaching. From the other side of the desk, you hear the sound of kissing and it makes you grin. 

But then it abruptly stops and Jim asks, “Do you hear that?”

You grab Jerome's wrist to stop him, lifting the letter opener. There's a beat.

“I don't hear anything,” Lee says. “Nothing out of the ordinary anyways. This building is old, Jim. It makes strange noises.”

There are a couple steps and you grip the small blade tighter. 

“We should get going,” Jim eventually. “You look so beautiful, I can’t keep my hands to myself.”

Jerome bites your neck. You purse your lips together to keep from moaning.

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Lee purrs to Jim. “Take me home, Detective.” 

“Yes, Doctor.” 

Their footsteps retreat and the door is slammed closed. As soon as you’re alone, you allow yourself to breathe heavily, dropping the letter opener and reaching out to grip the edge of the desk. “Fuck, that was hot,” you groan. 

“That was fun,” Jerome determines with a giggle. “Now, back to business. Come for me, Queenie. We haven’t got all night.” 

He seizes your wrist and kisses the cut on your hand, while his thumb rubs one more time. You’re done for. You come with a loud moan, gyrating on his lap until you’re too sensitive to keep going. This time when Jerome withdraws his hand, he doesn’t suck his fingers clean like before. Instead he pushes them into your mouth and you groan as you taste yourself. The look on his face is everything to you. He's enraptured. 

With a grunt, he removes his fingers and kisses you harshly. 

It takes several moments for you to catch your breath, and eventually the two of you crawl out from under the desk. 

“So, the darling doctor is still fornicating with the man who arrested me,” Jerome says, getting to his feet. 

“And she thinks we’re dangerous together,” you say, standing with a wince. “She doesn’t know the half of it.” 

You examine the cut on your hand. It's deep and probably will scar. 

Jerome drops down into Lee’s chair, tapping his chin as he stares at you. “Hey, I’ve got a question for you, Queenie,” he says. 

You struggle into your pants. “What’s that?”

“After we get out,” he says, voice low and serious. “What’s in it for me?”

Smirking, you reach out to stroke his cheek. He turns his face and licks your cut again. With a smoldering look, he adjusts his pants suggestively. Getting the hint, you drop down in front of him, hands coming to rest on his knees. His eyebrow goes up and he grins. 

“Anything you want, sweets,” you coo, spreading his legs. “When we get out of here, you’re free to do as you please. Of course, I’ll need some help with killing my stepmom. But, you’re more than welcome to cause as much damage as you’d like.” 

Jerome leans forward excitedly, drawing his cock out of his pants. “And then what?” he growls, palming himself. 

“Chaos, puddin’,” you say, wrapping your fingers around his length as you draw your mouth closer. “Pure chaos.” 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so here is Part 8. Due to the unfortunate circumstance of coming down with the WORST STOMACH FLU EVER this past weekend, updates are going to be a little slower. The flu knocked me on my ass and even though it’s been a couple of days, I still haven’t recovered. I’m taking things easy. Also, I just started watching Shameless and basically am going to binge it until I catch up. I REGRET NOTHING!

**** After the fun you had in Lee’s office, you’re exhausted by the time you drop Jerome off at his cell. He doesn’t look the least bit tired, and in fact pulls you into a goodbye kiss. You enjoy every bit of it, knowing you most likely won’t be seeing him the following day, due to the stupid doctor’s orders. So you relish the feeling of his hands running down your sides, while his mouth tastes yours for the final time that evening. 

Is this ever going to get old? You hope not. His taste is intoxicating. It’s a naughty mix of his natural flavor, your arousal, and just a hint of blood. His hands slide up the back of your shirt, blunt nails scraping along your spine. Your skin erupts with goosebumps and you shudder in his arms, whimpering. You want him. You want him so bad. How can that be possible? You just had him not too long ago. Well, not all of him. 

You palm his cock through his pants. It’s been only twenty minutes since he came in your mouth, and yet he’s already swelling in your hand. The sudden realization that he probably is physically able to fuck you all night has your legs weak and your head spinning. Or maybe that’s the lack of oxygen.

Jerome presses you into the bars when Lawrence awkwardly clears his throat. “The next shift is due in ten minutes,” he reminds you.

With groans of disappointment, you and Jerome break apart. Unfortunately, the guard is right. You sigh with a nod of acknowledgment toward Lawrence. Jerome isn’t quite ready to let you go just yet. He cups the back of your head and brings you into another kiss. 

“Tomorrow night?” you question when you manage to pry yourself away. “If I can’t manage to get to you before then, that is.” 

“Definitely.” 

You flick your tongue across his lips and he growls, snapping at you as you dance away. “Goodnight, Jerome.” 

Lawrence waits for you to leave the cell before slamming it closed and locking it. Jerome smirks the entire time, eyes only for you. “Sleep tight, Queenie.” He reaches down to grip the bulge you caused. “I’m not going to be able to sleep for a  _ long _ time.” 

“Good,” you purr. 

His face is all you think about on the walk back. It’s not until you’re safely in your own bed that your pleased smile starts to fade. What you read in Lee’s file isn’t really shocking per se. However, her determination to keep you and Jerome apart pisses you off to no end. Who does she think she is? She has no business meddling in things that don’t concern her. 

She’s doing more harm than good. 

Jerome is special. He’s everything you’ve ever wanted. He  _ gets  _ you. Feels the same way you do. Understands that all of this is just bullshit. It doesn’t matter. They tell you to come to terms with your father’s murder, without realizing you know exactly what you did. And they may think it was wrong, but what the fuck do they know? They’ll never experience what you and Jerome have. The liberation, the rush…

Being with him makes you feel invincible, like nothing can stop you. The way he looks at you, the way he touches and kisses you, it’s like he needs you just as much as you need him. The taste of him still lingers and you touch your lips, remembering every swipe of his tongue and scrape of his teeth. 

You’ll have to do something in the morning. You should be able to use your connections to change Lee’s orders. Not that it’ll matter in a few days. You and Jerome will be gone for good, and free to do as you please. 

Gotham has no idea what’s coming. 

It’s that thought that finally puts the smile back on your face and you close your eyes, drifting off shortly after. 

The next morning, Dallas does not come to collect you. A new guard does. The change immediately registers with you and makes you incredibly uncomfortable. In fact, as you’re being taken to breakfast, you don’t see Caswell either. That’s troublesome. New faces aren't a good thing. You don't have enough time to bribe new people. 

Aaron is waiting for you and, much to your annoyance, so are Greenwood and Dobkins. You’d forgotten about them. 

“What’s wrong, boss?” Dobkins ask as you sit. 

You raise your eyebrow. “So I’m your boss now?” you question. 

Dobkins nods. “Whatever you need, I can handle it,” he says. 

You glance over at Greenwood, who’s sitting there with his arms crossed. “I got what you asked for,” he says. “You said that meant I was in.”

Considering your guard contacts are nowhere to be found, and Jerome is being kept from you, now’s not the time to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Yeah, you’re both in,” you say, waving for Aaron to place your food tray in front of you. 

Dobkins claps excitedly, while Greenwood just gives you his creepy smile. “What’s the plan?” the dark haired man asks.

“We’ve got some important business to take care of today,” you say, taking a bite of your food. “Dallas and Caswell are gone. I don’t see some of the others I pay off either. You guys noticing a lot of new faces?”

Greenwood uncrosses his arms, leaning on the table. “Yeah, I noticed that too,” he says. 

“I heard they’re changing guard rotations now,” Dobkins pipes up. “They’ve also had to pull some guys to watch over Sionis. What do you think this means?”

“I think it means someone is onto me,” you grumble. “Or at the very least, suspicious that something’s going to go down.”

“Let’s take them out then!” Greenwood urges. 

You give him an eye roll. “It’s not that simple, dumbass,” you say. “Besides, acting against them now will just confirm their suspicions. No. We sit tight and we take things slow. It’s almost time. No matter what they do, they can’t stop what’s coming.”

“What _ is _ coming?” Dobkins asks. “Sionis thought you were planning stuff, but didn’t know what.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you say. 

“But we’re in on it, right?” Greenwood asks. “Whatever happens, we get a cut or something, right?”

“You’ll get what you deserve,” you say. 

Dobkins and Greenwood grin excitedly. 

After breakfast, you’re escorted outside to the yard. Dobkins and Greenwood now join Aaron in following you around, which is a bit annoying to be honest. It’s not exactly throwing suspicion off you. You went from having one guy as a bodyguard, to a trio. On the plus side, the other inmates actually move out of your way as you head over to one of the picnic tables. Taking a seat, you survey the yard with sharp eyes. All the guards you notice are on high alert. While you finally recognize a few faces, none of them are your men. 

This won't work for you. It needs to be taken care of immediately. 

“I need a distraction,” you announce. 

“Why?” Greenwood asks.

You sigh heavily. “Just shut up and go pick a fight with someone,” you order. “I need to slip back inside without being noticed.”

Dobkins is sitting cross-legged on the picnic table and he giggles excitedly. “Yeaaah, make a distraction,” he says.

Greenwood glares at him, and without warning, punches Dobkins right off the table. The other inmates notice and excitedly come running, as do the guards. You take the moment to make yourself scarce. 

Captain Port may be a hard ass, but he's the only one higher up who can answer your questions. You've avoided approaching him in the past, but you think it's finally time to try. You're feeling particularly confident today. You've got a plan to escape and a hot ginger to escape with. You can handle anything. 

The captain's office door is slightly ajar when you arrive. Without hesitating, you let yourself in. The man in question is sitting at his desk, looking exhausted and stressed. 

“Ah, Captain Port,” you smile charmingly, leaning against the wall. “Have I told you how dashing you look in that uniform?”

The older man regards you with annoyance. “What do you want? And how did you get in here? You’re supposed to be in the yard.” 

“I was bored,” you say, shrugging as you pace the small office. “Hey, can I ask you something, Captain?”

“No,” Port snaps, getting to his feet. He moves around the desk to grab your upper arm. “Come on, time to leave.” 

“Such strong hands,” you coo as he leads you towards the door. “Bet Nancy loves them.” 

He freezes at the mention of his lover’s name, eyes narrowing dangerously. “What did you say?”

“That’s your wife’s name, right? Nancy?” you ask. “Oh wait, no, that’s your mistress. Jenny is your wife. The one with the adorable laugh who came to visit you the other day.” 

Port swings you around to face him, painfully gripping your upper arms. “You don’t talk about my wife, fucking nutjob!” he snaps, spraying you with spit. 

“Oh, I’m not the one talking about her,” you smirk. “But, some of my other compatriots have taken a liking to her. She’s such a cutie after all. Considering you’re banging this Nancy woman, they figure you don’t care so much about the one you’re leaving at home.” 

He leans in close, nostrils flared with anger. “You may think this little game will work on me, but it won’t,” he snaps. But there's a tremor to his voice that says differently.  

“Ah, but it already is,” you smile. “You’re sweating, and you’re scared. Not of me, which you really should be because if I had something sharp you’d be dead right now. But you’re scared of  _ them _ .” 

“What do you want?” 

You wring your arms out of his grasp and straighten your uniform. “Where are Caswell and Dallas?”

“Why do you care?”

“None of your business,” you say. “Put the guard rotations back the way they were. And put Valeska back to his schedule as well.”

“And why should I do that?” he sneers. “You come in here making demands and trying to spook me. You’re just a fucking lunatic who no one will even remember in a few years. You'll just be the spoiled, rich brat who killed her father.”

“I’m not a lunatic,” you snap. “And trust me, I will be remembered. I have one of those faces.” You smile sweetly. “In fact, I had the most amazing chat with Jenny the last time she was here. I guess she remembered me from the visit before. She was so adorable when she was talking about how hard you’ve been trying for a baby. Shame you couldn’t just give her the one you made Nancy get rid of. Probably would have solved all your problems.”

“You stupid bitch!” 

Port reaches for you again, but you let out a high pitched scream that echoes throughout the room. “HELP!” you screech, pretending to cower by the door. “HELP! SOMEONE HELP!”

Realizing what this could look like, Port immediately starts trying to quiet you down. “Stop! STOP!” he urges in a hushed whisper. 

“OH MY GOD, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? HELP, SOMEONE HELP!”

“Fine! FINE! I’ll put the guards back! Just stop screaming!”

“And Jerome?” you ask, standing straight and dropping the scared act. 

Port puts a hand on his chest and breathes a sigh of relief. “That I can’t do anything about,” he says apologetically. “I’m sorry! I could if I would, but I can’t go against doctor’s orders.” At your angry glare, he hurriedly adds, “B-But I can take you to him so you can see him, if you want.” 

“Perfect, we’ll go now,” you say, nodding towards the door. “I don’t have time to just stand around. I’ve got shit to do.” 

Port swallows thickly and nods, crossing the room to stand with you at the door. “About that stuff with my wife…”

You pat him on the cheek. “Your secret’s safe with me,” you say. “So long as you do what I tell you.” 

Port sighs heavily but opens the door, ushering you out of his office. 

Jerome is in the rec room when Port lets you in. He’s sitting on the windowsill, looking out at the city, oblivious to what's around him. He doesn’t notice when you enter the room, so you take the opportunity to admire him. 

That profile. Those sharp eyes. That mouth. Fuck, that mouth. Also  _ fuck that mouth _ . Just seeing him again makes you remember his head between your legs, lips gliding along your slit. 

“Damn, handsome,” you say, dropping into the spot next to him. “You’d look so much better if you smiled.” 

Jerome whips his head to look at you with surprise and excitement. “Pulling strings in the daytime now too!” he exclaims, shifting closer and grinning. “Marry me.” 

“Later,” you say, leaning in. “Look, I don’t have much time. I wanted you to know that your part is coming up.” 

Jerome is twitchy with giddiness as he stares at you expectantly. “I’m all ears, doll face.” 

You steal a kiss because you haven’t seen him in hours, and if you’re going to use your connections to talk to him, you want it to be worth it. As usual, it is. He nips at your bottom lip, pulling you into his lap. There are people watching, but you don't care. 

You finally part when you have to breathe. He nuzzles your cheek as your lips touch his ear. “What do you need, Queenie?”

Since people are still watching, you have to whisper what he has to do into his ear. As you talk, his smile widens and he giggles. “You are such a bad girl,” he growls. 

“And are you going to be a bad boy?” you ask. You slip your tongue into his ear. 

“Mmm, you bet I am, sweet cheeks,” Jerome responds. “And then?”

“Then we're free.”

Jerome kisses you again. Port clears his throat loudly, but you hold up a finger for him to wait. 

“It's never felt this way before,” you admit between kisses. “I can't stop touching you. I  _ need  _ you so fucking bad.”

Jerome cradles your head in his hands, forcing you to look him in the eye. “You're all  _ mine _ , Queenie,” he declares. 

“Am I?” you purr, placing your hands over his. You turn your face to press a peck on his palm. 

“Yes!” Jerome dives in for another kiss. 

“Times up,” Port says.

You and Jerome glare at him, but you don't want to push your luck. You slide off his lap. “Until later, love,” you tell him, stroking his cheek. 

He takes your hand and licks the cut, wagging his eyebrows suggestively. Eyes hooded, you blow him a kiss before following Port out of the rec room.

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

The end of the week arrives quicker than you anticipate. However, the distance from Jerome weighs on you heavily. Before you got together, it had been easy. You had no reference for your fantasies, only your own wild imagination. True, you ached for him then. But now that you know what he tastes like, what his fingers feel like, what his  _ tongue  _ feels like…

It's nigh unbearable. Even the brief stolen moments you are able to have in the evenings isn't enough. At night you dream about him. Sometimes the dreams are more like memories, replaying your recent exploits over and over again. Other times, they’re fantasies. Jerome bending you over a table in the rec room, finally fucking you. Or taking you on the lawn in the yard. In some dreams, you’re not in Arkham anymore. You’re back in your old house, riding Jerome on the desk in your father’s study, while your stepmother bleeds out on the floor. 

You weren't playing a game when you told him that you needed him. You need him more than you've needed anything in your entire life. But you have to keep your eyes on the bigger picture. You can’t sleep with him until he fulfills his part of the plan. No matter how much you want to wrap your legs around his waist and never let go. 

Because once you give Jerome that control, there's no going back. You'll be completely his, and you’ll stop at nothing to give him anything and everything that he wants. You can’t do that. Not yet. Right now, you have to remain clear headed and focused. 

Currently, you’re on your own, heading in the direction of the yard to meet up with Dobkins and Greenwood. Their roles for the escape are pretty simple, but they're idiots and you don’t have much confidence in their ability to remember what you told them to do. However, you find yourself lost in your own mind. You’re picturing sitting on Jerome's face, hands buried in that red hair, staring down into those blue eyes, when Lawrence walks past. He clears his throat to get your attention, passing an envelope into your hand without pausing.

You discreetly tuck it into your shirt and keep walking, adrenaline spiking because you know exactly what this means. It's not until you're safely around the corner from prying eyes that you examine it. The envelope contains a small folded piece of paper with Chuck’s familiar messy handwriting. All it says is:  _ Good Luck _ .

It's time. You have to find Jerome and let him know. 

Tucking the paper back into your shirt, you change directions. Walking the halls feels different now. There’s an extra spring in your step and you can’t stop smirking. This has been in the works for so long, you’re excited to finally see it come to fruition. Of course, it could also be you’re feeling this way because you finally have Port in your pocket. And because Sionis is out of your way. 

Either way, you’re on cloud nine when you walk in the direction of the rec room. You assume that's where Jerome is. While it may take some time to get him alone, not even that challenge can wipe the smile off your face. 

Suddenly, your arm is seized and you find yourself dragged into a nearby closet. Panic takes control. Instinctively, you turn to scratch the person, catching them in the face.

Jerome grins at you, his cheek shining with a streak of blood. “Mmm, foreplay,” he coos.

The surprise is replaced with lust. You growl and grab the front of his shirt, tugging him forward. “I was just looking for you. Never sneak up on me!” you warn, and then you're plunging your tongue down his throat. 

He shoves you against the door, yanking down the collar of your uniform. He pries his mouth away from yours only to sink his teeth into your neck. You let out a high-pitched squeal. His hands shove up the skirt of your uniform, grabbing the backs of your thighs. Without thinking, you jump up and wrap your legs around his waist, letting him grind against you. Already there’s a bulge in his pants is digging into your thigh.

The rational part of your brain kicks in however, and you shove on his shoulders to get his attention. “As delicious as this is,” you groan. “Now's not the time. Just got word from Chuck that we're good to go.” Jerome keeps sucking on your neck. “We've got errands to run, puddin’.”

Your words dissolve into a moan as he particularly hard thrust rubs against your clit. It would be so easy to fuck him. All you have to do is push his pants down and his cock will be free. Not yet though. You can’t. 

“Jerome, stop. We have work to do,” you say firmly, pulling his hair.  

Jerome draws his head back, sneering up at you. “And that's more important than me?”

You glare and seize his face between your hands. “ _ Nothing  _ is more important to me than you are,” you assure him. You give into your desires and give him a slow, lazy kiss. “But if you want to be able to follow through with your part of the plan, you'll let me do mine.”

“Later,” Jerome says dismissively, grinding into you again. 

You lower your legs onto the floor and place a hand on his chest, shoving him back. “No,” you say firmly. “Not later. This needs to be done now.”

With a growl he suddenly has your wrists, slamming you against the door. “ _ Later! _ ” he snaps, pinning you with his body. 

You glare, biting down on his shoulder enough to rip his shirt. Jerome shouts in pain. “ _ Now!” _ you order, wriggling free from his grasp. 

You shove him back so roughly that he hits the shelf behind him. When he comes at you, you slap him. Hard. 

Jerome laughs, tongue swiping the small bead of blood off the corner of his lips. But he doesn’t try to come at you again. He simply gives you a sidelong look as you point threateningly. 

“Don’t,” you order in a firm voice. “Don’t you  _ ever  _ try that shit again. When  _ I  _ say no, it’s no. Are we fucking clear?”

Jerome grins sheepishly and puts his hands up in surrender. “I meant no harm,” he says. “Just got over zealous.”

“Well fucking watch yourself,” you say, and pull him into a kiss. Jerome’s hands aren’t as rough this time as they grab you, squeezing your hips almost apologetically. 

“How long do you plan to keep me waiting, Queenie?” he asks, lips parting from yours as he grinds himself on your leg. “Blow jobs and hand jobs are all well and good, but I've earned more. I've earned all of you.”

“Not yet you haven't,” you tell him, hand sliding down his chest. “ _ I  _ decide when you've earned the privilege of putting your cock inside me. You just have to do that one tiny favor we discussed. And then, I'm all yours.”

Jerome smirks, grabbing your wrist more gently than before and drawing you in even closer. His lips brush yours. “ _ All  _ of you?” he asks, other hand reaching around to grab your ass. 

You grin back. “Well, maybe not  _ all  _ right out the gate,” you amend. “Not unless you're offering  _ all  _ of yourself as well.”

Jerome hums and ponders your terms. “Hmm, never considered it before to be honest,” he admits. 

“Well, consider it now,” you tell him. “I don't let anyone do anything to me they won't let me do to them. Until then, I've got an appointment to get to. As do you.”

You're nearly out the door when Jerome pulls you back in, cupping your cheek. His final kiss is quick and more of a small bite to your bottom lip, before he lets you walk into the hall. Not before slapping your ass on the way. You glance over your shoulder in time to see him ducking out of the closet. He blows you a kiss. 

Grinning like a madwoman, you strut toward Dr. Thompkins’ office. You're just rounding the corner when you nearly run into Port, who gives you a solemn nod. You salute him cheerfully. It's not until he's out of sight that your smile fades. If you didn't know any better, you’d think he was just coming from Lee's office. 

The doesn’t sit well with you. 

Lee looks up from her desk as you let yourself in unannounced, the door slamming behind you. She’s clearly shocked at your arrival, and immediately seems to be on guard. The way she says your name has a bit of an edge to it. “What are you doing here?” she asks. 

“I needed to see you, Doc,” you tell her, voice serious and face worried. 

It works, as you thought it would, and her expression softens. Whatever she was working on gets pushed aside and she gives you her full attention. “Are you alright?”

“No, no, I’m not,” you say, making it sound as if you’re on the verge of tears. “Jerome was switched to a different schedule. I haven’t seen him in days! I’m so worried about him!”

Lee gives you a sympathetic look. “I’m very sorry to hear that,” she says. “I know this is a very difficult change, but unfortunately, these things happen sometimes.” 

“I just don’t know what to do!” you moan, dropping into the chair in front of her desk. “What if something happens to him? What if Richard comes after him? I won’t be there to protect him!”

“Mr. Sionis won’t be coming after anyone anytime soon,” Lee assures you. “Jerome will be just fine. You’ll be alright. You can make it through this transition.” 

“I don’t think I can,” you tell her. “I don’t think I’ll be able to make it. He was the one person who understands me, who I felt like I could talk to. I don’t have anyone now!” You throw yourself on the desk, bursting into noisy tears as you bury your face in your arms. 

Lee reaches over and places her hand on yours. “You have me,” she says. 

Predictable. 

“You’re just paid to pretend to care,” you say through fake sobs. “You don’t actually  _ really  _ care.”

“Of course I do,” Lee insists. “I just want you to be happy and healthy. Some separation from Jerome is a good thing. Trust me, you can make it through this.” 

You lift your head up, still sniffling. “I guess you’re right,” you say. “Maybe it’s for the best. After all…” You glance up to meet her gaze. “We’re probably really dangerous together.” 

Lee blinks at you owlishly, and you can see the surprise and concern in her expression. Slowly she withdraws her hand. “Why are you here really?” she asks sharply. 

You ponder her question, staring at her wide-eyed as if you don’t have any idea what she’s talking about. However, after a few seconds it’s clear that her suspicion is not going away, so you sit back in your chair. “Curiosity mostly,” you say with a shrug, dropping the act. “See, Dr. Thompkins, I just find you so  _ fascinating _ .” 

There is silence as Lee processes your words. After a moment, she lets out a shaky breath and says, “You’ve been reading my files.”

“I skimmed them,” you admit, waving your hand. “Honestly, I too preoccupied to read them completely, what with Jerome’s head between my legs and all. Seriously, Doc, the things that boy can do with his mouth and tongue. Umph. Anyway, what I did read in the file was just so interesting.” 

“I think you need to leave,” Lee says in a low, dangerous voice. 

“Mmm, I love it when you get all bossy,” you purr, leaning forward in your chair. Her hand closes around the letter opener and you chuckle. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to hurt you. I do have a question though. What was Port doing here?”

“None of your business,” Lee says instantly.

“Which means it  _ is  _ my business,” you say. “The two of you wouldn’t happen to have been talking about me, would you? Because, if that’s the case, things are looking very bad for Captain Port.” 

“I often converse with the captain about all our inmates,” Lee says evasively. “Now, it’s time for you to go. I’m giving you a chance before I call security.” 

“Whoa, whoa, easy there, lovely,” you say, putting your hands up in surrender. “Just came to talk to my doctor. Don’t need to overreact.” 

“We both know that’s not the case,” Lee says bluntly. “You didn’t come here to talk to me about Jerome. And if you did, it was probably to threaten me for separating you. So let’s cut the bullshit, okay?”

You give a mock gasp. “Language!  _ You  _ are supposed to be a _ professional! _ ” you tell her, hand over your heart as if it pains you to hear such language. It’s actually arousing to see her be straightforward. 

“Fine, I’ll cut the shit,” Lee says, leaning back in her chair. “I had your ‘boyfriend’ transferred to another rotations because you two are a nuclear explosion waiting to happen. You are two of the most manipulative, toxic human beings I have ever met, and I wanted to spare all of us the trouble of whatever it is you have planned.”

Lee’s eyes drift to your neck and you realize she can see Jerome's bite. You run your fingers over it teasingly and she immediately averts her gaze. 

“God, you say the sweetest things,” you tell her, getting to your feet. You place your hands on the surface of the desk, leaning toward her. “You know, there’s something about you that I just can’t put my finger on. You’re not like the other doctors I’ve had. I like you. I think you've got a little something  _ extra. _ ”

“How flattering,” Lee says in a deadpan voice. “Now get the hell out of my office. This is your last warning.” 

“Gosh, you’re so pushy, Lee,” you say, standing straight. “I wonder how Jim stands it.” 

Lee pales and her eyes flicker dangerously as she slowly gets to her feet. “You were in my office that night,” she accuses, pointing the letter opener at you. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you smile. She says your name with warning, but you interrupt her. “I go by Queenie now. Thought I’d make a fresh start. You know, for my recovery?”

There are suddenly shouts outside the door and the sound of people running past the office. Lee is alarmed but you cross your arms, unfazed. Perfect timing. You and Jerome really are a great team. He continues to show just how much you can count on him. Guess you'll be celebrating tonight. Can’t wait for him to finally fuck you. 

Lee actually comes around the desk, drawing closer, but seems to think better of it and stops halfway. “What did you do?” she demands. 

“Me?” you ask, appalled. “I didn’t do anything. I’ve been here with you this whole time.” You smirk at the letter opener she still holds. “Careful. That’s pretty sharp. Wouldn’t want to cut yourself.” 

The door to the office opens and Port enters, red-faced. “All inmates back to their cells,” he orders. “We’re going on lock-down.” 

Suddenly alarms start ringing throughout the asylum. 

“What happened?” Lee yells to him over the noise. 

“Richard Sionis is dead,” Port answers, grabbing your upper arm. “Come on, Queenie, back to your cell.” 

You smile at Lee, allowing Port to drag you away. “Kaboom,” you say, blowing her a kiss. 

The last thing you see as you’re led from the room, is Lee’s stunned face as she drops the letter opener. 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was pretty damn fun to write. I was just going to post the teaser today but, felt like posting the whole thing. Will be a while before I post the next part though. Enjoy!

 

The tension in the air is beautiful. 

Everyone is on edge as the news of Sionis’s death spreads throughout Arkham. You get the details from the whispers of the other inmates. Jerome snuck into Sionis’s room and stabbed him repeatedly with a scalpel, after which he carved J + Q into the man’s chest. You don’t know if that last part is true, but it sounds like something Jerome would do. 

You sit on your bed, back against the wall, calmly watching the sun set through your tiny window. You can feel the unrest. While the sounds of the other inmates pacing and fidgeting can be heard, you remain still. With every slowly passing second, your grin gets wider. Eventually the energy gets to you as well and you start to fidget excitedly. Soon. So soon. 

The lights go out, and suddenly everything is eerily silent. 

And you wait. 

After nearly an hour, heavy footsteps make their way towards your cell. Dallas and Lawrence both appear and you smile sweetly at them, getting to your feet. 

“Show time, boys,” you say. 

Dallas unlocks your cell. Reaching underneath the bed, you pull out your lighter. After a quick sweep to make sure you’re not leaving anything behind, you set fire to your pillow. You tuck the lighter into your shirt, bid your stupid prison farewell, and lead the men into the hallway. You’re just at the end of the block when the fire alarm goes off. Ducking into a small corner, Lawrence blocks you from view of the guards who come running, while Dallas gestures wildly to where the fire is coming from. 

They run past and as you and your men slip out of the block, you pull the release lever, opening all the cells behind you. The guards scream as they’re rushed by inmates and you smile as you leave them to fend for themselves. 

Now that the fire alarm is going off, other alarms are as well. It seems the additional guards on your crew are doing their parts. Lawrence and Dallas stick close to you.

“We need Port,” you say. “He’s the only one who can get us to Jerome.” 

As you say this, the doors in front of you burst open and Caswell comes flying out, falling to the floor in a crumpled mess. Aaron stands there, teeth bared and hands dripping with blood. When he sees Lawrence and Dallas with you, he starts for them. But you stop him. 

“Aaron, no!” you say, rushing forward to put your hands on his chest. “It’s okay. They’re good. You did good, buddy.” You pat him on the cheek and he gives you a lopsided smile. “Come on, we need to find Jerome. They took him to solitary right?” 

Aaron nods. “Yes,” he says. “He was laughing.” 

You grin and clap excitedly. “Of course he was,” you say, dodging around Aaron. “Gents, onward!”

You and your men make your way through the chaos that has ensued. Inmates are running wild, the guards too overwhelmed to notice your group. Occasionally an inmate charges for you, but between Aaron and the two guards, they don’t get very far. Bodies are starting to pile up, but you step over them as you go. 

You find Captain Port fighting off a skinny man with large eyes, who seems to be trying to bite the guard. Dallas knocks the inmate out, letting Port collapse against the wall, panting. 

“This was your doing!” he accuses, pointing at you. 

“Yeah, yeah, we don’t have time for this,” you tell him. “Take me to Jerome.”

“No!” Port snaps. “No, this is too much! You’ve gone too far! I don’t care if you tell Jenny about Nancy. People are dying!”

“Newsflash, Port! People die every fucking day!” you snap. “Now, you  _ will  _ take us to Jerome. We need your thumbprint for the security scanner.”

“Screw you!”

Sighing, you snap your fingers and Lawrence and Dallas seize Port. The man’s eyes widen when he realizes his own men aren’t even under his command anymore. You nod at Aaron, who grabs Ports wrist, prying his fist open so his thumb is extended. Casually, you stroll over and wrap your mouth around his thumb, teeth sinking into the flesh. 

“No! NO! NO DON’T!” Port pleads. “Alright! Alright! I’ll take you to him and open the block!” 

You let his thumb slip from your mouth and smile sweetly. “Thank you oh so much, Captain,” you say. “Shall we?”

He sags against the men holding him, nodding with defeat. They loosen their hold but don’t let go, steering him in the direction you all need to go. 

“You orchestrated all of this,” Port says as you walk. 

“You’re a sharp one,” you say in a deadpanned voice. “Boy, nothing gets by you, does it? What were you talking to Dr. Thompkins about?” 

“I wasn’t—”

“I know you were,” you snap. “Don’t fucking lie to me. What were you talking to her about?”

Port sighs. “You,” he says. “She called me in to ask me questions.”

“Like what?”

“You and Valeska,” Port says. “She wanted to know what you two were like together. If I thought you were planning anything.”

“And what did you say?” you ask in a dangerous tone. 

“Nothing, nothing I swear!” Port assures you. 

Liar. 

You reach the doors to the solitary cell-block. Lawrence and Dallas let Port go so he can unlock the door. As he presses his thumb to the plate, you smirk over at Lawrence as you reach to grab his pistol. The guard smiles back and you wink up at him, before drawing the gun and pressing the barrel into the back of Port’s head.

“To tell you the truth, I have no idea who Nancy and Jenny are.” 

The gunshot is loud and masks the sound of the door clicking open. You barely have time to admire the gaping hole in the back of his head before Port’s dropping to the ground. 

“Aaron, please pick up the good captain.” 

Aaron does as he told, while Dallas opens the cell-block the rest of the way and you push past him.

Jerome’s cell is at the very end. You walk towards it, purposefully ignoring the banging and screams from the other inmates locked in solitary. Using the keys on Port’s belt, you unlock Jerome’s cell, and throw open the door. He’s sitting on the floor, bound by a straight jacket, which angers the fuck out of you. But as soon as he looks up and sees your face, his mouth splits into a wide grin. 

“Ready for freedom, puddin’?” you ask. 

Jerome slowly gets to his feet, as Dallas enters the cell to unbind him. “Oh, Queenie,” he coos. “You shouldn’t have. And here I am without anything to give you.” 

Once he’s free, you run at him, leaping up to wrap your legs around his waist and pull him into a hard kiss, the gun still clasped in one hand. Jerome catches you, arms holding you tightly. “Trust me, love,” you mutter against his lips when you draw away. “You have plenty to give me when we’re out of here.” 

His eyes sparkle. “Well then, lead the way.” 

You hop down with a grin, grab his hand, and pull him from the cell. “Boys, please bind the former captain in the straight jacket and leave him behind.”

They do as you command, locking the cell. 

“Should buy us a little time,” you explain to Jerome as the five of you leave solitary, making sure the door is locked. “If they know you're missing right away, they'll know I am too.”

“This is why you're in charge,” Jerome giggles, walking beside you. “Ooo new toy!” 

He seizes the pistol out of your hand and you let him play with it. “If you shoot yourself I'm totally going to laugh,” you warn. 

“Hey!” calls a voice.

A guard spots you as he rounds the corner, and you immediately recognize him as the one who interrupted yours and Jerome's first kiss. Before you can say anything, Jerome shoots him in the chest. He crumples to the ground with a yell of pain. You grin at Jerome, who is giggling happily. 

“This gun has a nice kick to it!” he exclaims. 

It’s difficult to avoid the thick of the fighting, but your group manages. However, just as you're heading toward the exit, you hear your name being called. You stop and turn to find Greenwood and Dobkins hurrying to keep up. Jerome goes to lift the pistol, but you place your hand on his. 

“Not worth it,” you say in his ear. To the new arrivals you ask, “Is it done?”

They nod excitedly, both covered in blood. Greenwood even has some on his mouth, which you avoid looking at. 

“They're all gone,” he announces. 

“Yeah we didn't even need to get to some of them. They were already dead,” Dobkins explains. 

“Perfect.” All the guards you bribed can’t spill their guts now. Well, metaphorically. 

Jerome keeps glaring at Greenwood, but he lowers the gun. “You sure they're gone?” he questions. “Wouldn't want all of Queenie’s hard work to go to waste, would we?”

“You calling me a liar?” Greenwood accuses. 

“Jerome, Greenwood, you can settle this later,” you say. “We’re on a schedule here, boys. Let’s keep moving.” 

The guard's station is abandoned when you arrive. 

Your guard’s uniform is a bit snug, but it feels way better than the stupid uniforms the asylum makes you wear. Per your instructions to Chuck, you find a face mask in your pocket. Jerome notices one in his as well and he follows your lead, slipping it on. Greenwood does the same, as does Dobkins. You have to show Aaron his. 

Dallas eventually notices and looks at you curiously. “What’s with the masks?” he asks. 

You pull out the other item from your pocket; a canister of knockout gas. With a simple pull of the pin, you drop it in front of him and Lawrence. They immediately reach for their guns, but the gas is too fast and it seeps into their lungs, sending them into coughing fits. You grab the gun from Jerome and shoot both Dallas and Lawrence, right between the eyes. 

It's always wonderful when loose ends get tied up. You hop over their bodies on the way to freedom. 

Outside, the cold air feels amazing. You don’t have time to relish it however, as you’re in a rush to get to the black limo that’s waiting. As you approach, the front door opens and an older man steps out. 

“Ah, hello, Schultz,” you address your former driver, removing the itchy mask. “Been a long time. Did you miss me?”

“As always, Miss,” he says formally, giving you a bow. He opens the back door and you motion to the boys. 

“After you, gents,” you grin. “Our future awaits.”

They remove their masks as they cheer, piling into the back of the limo. Dobkins and Greenwood go first, Aaron lumbers after as Jerome lays a smacking kiss on your cheek and then dives in. You go to climb in, pausing to stare at the asylum one more time to admire it. It had been an interesting experience, but you have places to go and a stepmother to kill. 

Jerome leans out the door, wrapping both arms around your waist. With a laugh, he pulls you into the limo with the rest of them. You can’t stop giggling as you let him. Schultz slams the door behind you and climbs back into the driver’s seat. Excitedly, you and Jerome turn to look out the back window, watching as the asylum slowly starts to shrink in the distance. 

The others are too busy enjoying the free drinks and snacks in the limo to pay you two any attention. 

Jerome looks at you and you meet his gaze, grinning. You’re so happy you could scream. The thrill of the escape is pumping so much adrenaline through your veins you want to pin Jerome to the seat and have your way with him right there. He cups your cheek and kisses you, and though it’s hard like so many others, there’s something else to it. A desperation and intent that is unmistakable. 

He’s going to fuck you tonight. 

The limo has to drive halfway across the city before it gets to your penthouse. See, once upon a time when you thought you would be moving out of your father’s house, you purchased a stunning place to live. You had been sure such a thing wouldn’t go over well, so you had used an alias. While you never had a chance to use the place, you had made sure it was equipped with everything you wanted. And if Chuck followed your instructions correctly, it should be plenty ready for your arrival. 

The elevator ride up is loud as Greenwood and Dobkins regal you all with how they killed the guards. Aaron listens excitedly, but you and Jerome just stare each other down, waiting.

Their reactions as they step into the penthouse are to be expected. They're giddy at their new freedom.

“Okay, house rules,” you say as you lead them through the living room. “No killing, torturing, raping, or hurting my staff. And no biting, Greenwood. I’m paying these people a lot of money for their discretion.”

You pause to gesture to a hallway. “Guest rooms are this way. Take your pick,” you say. 

The boys are besides themselves, but you only have eyes for Jerome. Likewise, he watches you from across the room, chest heaving. With swaying hips, you strut towards a second hallway. “I’m going to bed. I’m  _ exhausted, _ ” you say over your shoulder. “I’ll see you all in the morning.” 

The hallway isn’t very long, but it definitely feels like it is. The door to your room lies at the end and you open it, admiring the large waiting bed, draped in dark red silk sheets. Perfect.

You spin around in the doorway, hand resting on the dark wood. “Shall we, puddin’?”

Jerome stands a few steps away, hands clenched into fists and wicked smile widening. He had followed you just as you knew he would. Tapping his chin in mock thought, he says, “Hmm, let’s see. Do I want to go to bed with Queenie?”  

Reaching up with your free hand, you undo the first two buttons on your shirt, revealing your breasts. Jerome’s eyes darken with lust and he licks his lips. With a near comical grin, he duck under your outstretched arm on his way into the room. 

Smirking, you slam the door shut behind him. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moment you've been waiting for.

 

The bedroom is dimly lit by the lights from outside. Along one wall is a large window, overlooking Gotham’s impressive cityscape. The penthouse is quite a ways up, putting you above most of the surrounding buildings.

You and Jerome are too busy staring at each other to pay attention to the view however. Your back rests against the locked door, hand slipping off the handle. Without breaking eye contact, you start to strip.

Jerome hurries to do the same, impatiently fighting with the buttons of his guard uniform. You finish before he does and strut past him to the bed, sliding onto the cool sheets.

You've never seen Jerome completely naked, things being too hectic when you were changing clothes earlier. As more of his pale skin becomes exposed your breathing picks up. He's gorgeous. You never imagined he’d be as cut as he is. Your eyes follow the lines of muscle, watching him kick himself free of his pants.

Jerome slowly advances on you. “No interruptions, no reason to stop,” he growls.

“I don't want you to stop,” you urge, rolling onto your stomach to face the foot of the bed. It puts you at perfect eye-level with his cock. “I’m going to suck you off, and then you’re going to fuck me.”

You lean forward, reaching for him, but Jerome grabs your hair, tilting your head back and forcing you to look up. With his free hand he strokes himself. “You're a bad girl for making me wait so long,” he grunts.

You grin as he closes the distance, the head of his cock less than an inch from your face. “I'll make it worth the wait, puddin’.”

Flicking your tongue across the tip, you wink. Jerome laughs, before shoving himself into your mouth. You groan around his manhood, sucking as hard as you can. He exhales excitedly and withdraws, only to thrust back in. His hand slips from your hair, allowing you set the pace, for once.

You gladly do, pushing yourself up onto your hands and knees. Sucking him off in your room is very different from doing it in the asylum. While there's no real threat of getting caught, the knowledge that Jerome is going to fuck you provides all the excitement you need. He hasn't even touched you yet and your thighs are already slick.

Almost as if he can read your thoughts, Jerome runs his hand down your back. The touch sends sparks of desire through you, and you can't help but arch into it. Suddenly Jerome withdraws from your mouth, but before you can protest, he grabs you and forces you onto your back, your head nearly hanging off the bed.

This time when he shoves himself back in, he reaches down to squeeze your breasts at the same time. He tweaks and tugs on your nipples until they're hard beneath his fingers, and even then doesn't stop playing. You close your eyes and surrender control, wanting nothing more than for him to use you for his own twisted pleasure. He must sense the shift because he cradles your head and fucks your mouth, wide smile never faltering.

Unable to help it, you open your legs and start to touch yourself, fingers swirling your aching clit in a frenzy. It's hard to keep up with Jerome's pace but you try your hardest.

“Yeah, touch yourself,” he orders gruffly.

You whimper around his cock, giving him a show. Without warning, Jerome is gone again, leaving you gasping for breath. You barely have a chance to wipe the spit from your chin before he yanks you off the bed.

“Oh, Queenie, Queenie, Queenie,” he sings, dragging you toward the window. “I've waited for this night for so long.”

He swings you around, shoving you up against the window. You gasp as your tits press on the cold glass, hands splayed on either side of you. By comparison, his body along your back is scalding.

“Let's share it with all of Gotham,” you grin at his reflection.

Half his face is obscured by your own image, but his smile is still noticeable. He kicks your legs apart, and drops to his knees. Spreading your ass open, he buries his tongue inside your cunt, forcing a loud whine out of you. All the heat travels through your body to pool between your legs. Unable to move, you squirm against the window, moaning. Bursts of heat just keep coming when Jerome starts to finger you, but it only lasts a few seconds, once he's sure you're sufficiently warmed up. How strangely thoughtful.

Jerome stands once more, grabbing your hips and roughly tugging them so you're half-bent. His cock slides between your legs and it makes you shudder with anticipation.

“You know,” Jerome says casually, hand reaching around. His fingers press down on your clit and you moan loudly. “Never fucked a girl without a rubber.”

“Well aren't I lucky?” you grin, hips rolling along with the movement of his hand.

“Do I need one?”

“Nope,” you tell him. “I'm clean and got one of those—” You gasp as his cock glides through your slick folds. “—those IUD things.”

Jerome's tongue find his bite mark from that morning and he laps at it, right before swiftly burying himself inside you. The sudden sensation of being completely filled takes your breath away and temporarily forget how to breathe. Jerome's hiss mingles with your moan. His body shudders violently and you both stand still for a second.

Then he starts to fuck you.

There's no buildup, no slow steady rhythm so that you can adjust. Jerome slams himself into you repeatedly, fingers digging into your skin. You’re powerless to do anything other than stand there and take it. It's amazingly overwhelming. Each time he thrusts in, you can't help the moans that spill out.

“Fuck, Jerome!” you gasp. “ _Fuck!”_

Jerome grunts, gripping your waist harder. “ _Mine_ ,” he says through clenched teeth. “You're mine, Queenie! _Fuck, you feel good!”_

Your hands slip uselessly against the glass. “Yours, Jerome!” you echo. “All yours!”

He throws his body on yours, flattening you between himself and the window. “You mean it?” he asks in your ear, still thrusting deeply into you.

Whimpering, you nod with a grin. “All yours, J.”

Jerome grabs the back of your knee, lifting your leg and slamming it against the glass. Each thrust is as deep as it can possibly be. You never want this to end. It's not like you feel complete or some romantic bullshit like that. You honestly don't know what to call it. But it feels like you're _more_. Like you're right where you're supposed to be.

Sharp teeth find your shoulder and you cry out as Jerome bites down, before sucking hard on the spot. You're going to be covered in marks; you have to remember to return the favor.

Your release is approaching quicker than you anticipate, and you don't even have a chance to give any warning before you're coming. Your whole body tenses for a moment as you're overcome by pleasure, clamping down around Jerome to make sure he doesn't go anywhere.

Jerome makes a noise of excitement, slowing down his thrusts. “Well that didn't take long,” he teases, lowering your leg.

Shaking from the aftershocks of your orgasm, you try to catch your breath. But Jerome isn't done with you yet. He pulls you from the window, shoving you onto the bed. You land spread out on your back, chest heaving.

Jerome stares at you for a moment, hard cock jutting out towards you, glistening from your slick. He pounces, mouth colliding painfully with yours. You slide a hand in his hair, tugging on the red locks to coax a grunt out of him. His mouth devours yours, like he's trying to crawl inside you, tongue invading every crevice. After a few seconds he jerks away, grinning as he hoists your leg over his shoulder.

This time when Jerome slides in, you get to see the expression on his face. He bites bottom lip, his eyes roll back in his head, and he thrusts all the way, bending you in half. You shout, hips jerking up to meet his as he penetrates you deeper than anyone ever has. Forehead pressed to yours, his black eyes take you in.

“I'm the only one from now on,” he growls. “You're mine and no one else can touch you! I'll kill them if they try!”

You gasp as he begins to thrust again. “That's my call, Ginger. And I don't know if I want to make it just yet,” you tease, loving the dangerous glint in his eyes.

Jerome grits his teeth. “Queenie…” he warns.

You laugh, reaching down to grab his ass. You give one cheek a hard slap. “Your cock is plenty for me,” you purr. “I promise; no one else. Now, shut up and make me come again.”

Jerome sits back on his knees, gripping your leg as he fucks into you. You groan, watching his chiseled abdominal muscles flex with each thrust. His firm hand seizes your other leg, bending it back so you're spread wide beneath him. You can feel every thick inch of him, every bump and vein throbs as Jerome drills you into the mattress.

You stretch your arms above your head, back arched as you moan. “Jerome! Harder! Is this supposed to make me come?”

Jerome's smile fades and he throws your leg off his shoulder, placing his hands on either side of your hips. Your body rocks with the force of his thrusts, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing throughout the room. You are both drenched in sweat, the satin sheets sticking to you unpleasantly.

Jerome’s hair falls into his eyes. He tilts his head as he takes in the sight of you, lips parted while he pants heavily. “Fucking take it,” he growls.

Breasts bouncing from his thrusts and your own harsh breathing, you grin up at him. “I will when you give it to me,” you pant.

Jerome throws himself on top of you, smashing his mouth to yours. You gasp under his weight, swallowing his tongue in the process. You taste blood, his teeth having cut your bottom lip in his excitement. His dick is as deep as it possibly can be, and with each grind and thrust, your climax hovers just within reach.

Long fingers wrap around your throat and Jerome jerks away to look you in the eye. “Feel it now?” he snarls.

You're too far gone to answer, body tense and on the verge of exploding. All you can manage is a nod and a whimper. Jerome's breath ghosts across your lips, nose bumping yours when he tilts your head up towards his. But instead of kissing you, he starts to squeeze.

His thumb digs into your windpipe, smile wide when he feels you gasping for air. That pink tongue of his darts out to lick the blood from your bottom lip. Your vision starts to swim and your nerves come alive, as adrenaline starts pumping as wildly as Jerome is.

“You're so fucking hot!” he grunts. “And the _noises_ you make.”

All that escapes is a gurgle as your vision starts to tunnel. Jerome turns your face away from him and runs his tongue up the entire side of it, before biting hard on your neck.

Searing pain mixed with overwhelming pleasure rocks your very core, and you come hard, squirting over Jerome's cock. He's so surprised, his grip relaxes on your throat and you inhale violently, gasping for breath. Pleasure stabs at you over and over again, until finally you're left shaking and spent.

Jerome pushes himself up on his hands to glance down at the mess between your bodies, only to look back up at you, smiling.

“Filthy, filthy, Queenie,” he taunts. He still keeps fucking you, and you can tell his own release isn't far behind. His movements have become sloppier and more frantic.

Your post-orgasm is still making your body tremble, and it's then that you realize, it's not actually stopping. Wave after wave of pleasure keeps crashing over you and you sink your fingers into Jerome's arms, nails drawing blood.

“ _Fuck me, J!”_ you croak. “ _Keep fucking me!”_ You wrap your legs around his waist, heels digging into his lower back.

“I'm gonna come,” Jerome announces with a strangled moan. “Fuck, Queenie, I'm gonna come!”

“Oh yes! OH FUCK!” One more thrust topples you over the edge and you're hit with your final orgasm. “ _Oh, Mistah J!”_

Jerome calls your name as he suddenly withdraws, and then his release is erupting from his swollen prick, sending jets of white across your stomach and chest. Rising up on his knees, he jerks himself off, gaze entirely focused on the mess he's making across your sweat and slick drenched skin. He pumps himself until there's nothing left. Only then does he collapse on the bed next to you, breathing heavily.

Your body twitches and your head spins. It takes a moment for you to come back to yourself. “ _Fuck_ , Jerome.”

Jerome grins and turns his head to look at you. “My sentiments exactly,” he says. “We’re not waiting that long again.”

You give a breathless laugh, wincing at your sore throat. “Fuck no,” you say. “Though I am out of commission for the rest of the night.” You reach down to trail your fingers through the mess on your breasts, before licking the digits clean.

Jerome groans and turns towards you onto his side. He cups your cheek, forcing you into a kiss, tasting himself on your tongue. He hums. “Now you're officially all mine,” he says.

“I am, baby. Completely.” You kiss him again, heart beating wildly in your chest.

“Are you sure you’re out of commission?” Jerome grunts when you part lips.

“How are you not?” you giggle.

Jerome slides his hand down your chest, spreading his seed around your breast. “You,” he answers. “Months of fantasizing about fucking you just makes me want to live out every depraved fantasy.”

You smirk, bringing his hand to your mouth and licking the jizz off. Jerome watches transfixed, his own lips parted as he still breathes heavily.

“Come on, Queenie,” he begs. “I bet you can do more.” He’s suddenly kneeling between your legs.

“Oh yeah? You really think so?” you ask, propping yourself up on your elbows.

Jerome grins and slips his hands under your knees, spreading your legs wide. “We have all night to test our limits,” he says. He pauses, licking his lips. “I like this look on you, Queenie.”

“Oh yeah, what look?” you ask, tilting your head with curiosity.

“You, sweaty and naked with your legs spread, covered in my cum,” Jerome says.

“Ah yes, that look,” you laugh. “My exclusive evening wear.”

Jerome giggles, burying his head between your legs.

 

Hours later, you’re roused from sleep by the sound of raised voices. Eyes still closed, you stretch with a sleepy moan. When you reach for Jerome however, you find his side of the bed empty. Squinting through the darkness of the room, you frown at the rumpled sheets and sit up. Your body protests angrily, but you slide out of bed anyways.

Slipping on fresh pair of panties and a cute matching bra, you tug on a red robe over yourself and leave the room in search of your bed-mate. In the hall, you hear the voices clearer and follow the sound to your armory. Most of the items in there are antiques, but you have a collection of functional weapons you are hoping to be able to use now that things are in motion.

However, when you hear a chainsaw, you take off running. You burst into the room, only to see Jerome attacking Greenwood with said chainsaw, while Greenwood parries with a sword.

“What the fuck is this bullshit?! Enough!” you snap angrily, strutting over to them.

“I tried to stop them!” Dobkins exclaims from the spot on the floor where he’s crouched, playing absentmindedly with a pistol.

Aaron stands off to the side, watching the exchange excitedly. He clearly is hoping for bloodshed.

Jerome turns off the chainsaw, jaw clenched. He wears a robe similar to yours, though his is tied closed. He’s glaring daggers at Greenwood.

“Are you fucking kidding me? We just got out! Can't you keep it together for one night? We’re supposed to be a team,” you scold, coming to a stop next to them, hands on your hips.

Jerome gives you a sidelong glance and that puts a smile on his face, as he takes in your body under the robe. Bruises and bitemarks decorate most of your exposed skin.

“Yeah we're supposed to be a team!” Dobkins repeats, immediately shutting up when you glare at him.

“Yeah, and I’m the captain,” Greenwood announces.

Jerome’s head whips back to look at him and he drops the chainsaw. “Captain of my foot!” he growls.

“I've murdered twelve women, terrorized this city. What? You think you get to be the captain just because Queenie took your dick once?”

Oh fuck no.

You open your mouth to tell Greenwood off, but Jerome beats you to it. “Twice,” he corrects, “And I’m not the boss because Queenie allowed my dick inside her. You see, Greenwood,” he closes in on the cannibal, eyes narrowed dangerously. “I have vision, and ambition, and brains. You’re just a nutty old cannibal. How many people can you eat before that schtick gets old?”

“I could eat one more,” Greenwood threatens.

“Alright, you know what, I’m sick of this,” you snap. “It’s late, I just spent the last few hours getting expertly nailed—”

“You’re welcome,” Jerome interrupts.

“Thank you,” you say. “I’m exhausted and everything below the waist hurts. Time to settle this so I can get back to bed.” Looking around, you see a revolver in the nearby chest and grab it. You open the chamber and remove all but one bullet. “I assume you both know this game.”

Jerome reaches up to trail his fingers across the bite marks on your neck. “Mmm, love it.”

“Fine,” you say. You spin the chamber and close it. Holding the gun out to them, you raise your eyebrow.

Jerome looks at the gun before looking back at Greenwood. “Ladies first.”

Greenwood grabs the gun and with a wide grin, puts the end of the barrel to his temple. He pulls the trigger and, to your disappointment, nothing happens. Smug, he hands the gun to Jerome.

Jerome takes the weapon, casually examining it. “Hey, Greenwood,” he says. “What’s the secret to good comedy?” He puts the gun to his head and pulls the trigger without hesitating. There's a click. “Timing.”

You watch him cock the gun again, twitching with nervous energy.

“And what’s courage?” Jerome places the gun to his cheek and once more doesn't hesitate as he pulls the trigger. Another click. “Grace under pressure.”

He's standing face to face with Greenwood now, and you watch entranced as Jerome puts the barrel under his own chin for a third time. “And, who's the boss?” he questions.

By now Greenwood’s smug grin has faded and he flinches when the trigger is pulled one more time.

“ _I'm_ the boss,” Jerome growls, softly chuckling at Greenwood’s submission.

You step up to them, placing a hand on Jerome's lower back. “I believe you are, babe,” you say, taking the revolver and dropping it into the chest. “Well, behind me of course.”

Jerome wraps his arm around you and tugs you in close. “Perfect. That's my favorite place to be!” He kisses you roughly, tongue visibly slipping into your mouth. You indulge the display, giggling to yourself when Greenwood recoils with disgust.

“What’s the plan, Queenie?” Jerome asks when he pulls away, nuzzling your cheek “And does it include you riding me, because I was really hoping to squeeze that in before we do anything else.”

You giggle. “You said ‘squeeze in’.”

Jerome also giggles. “Yeah I did.”

“We actually have a big day planned for tomorrow,” you tell him. “We’re going to pay a little visit to my father’s firm.” To Dobkins, Aaron, and Greenwood you say, “So everyone, go get some fucking sleep. And if you wake me up again, I will stab you.”

After what they just witnessed, the others are quick to disperse, Greenwood trailing behind, dejected. You grab Jerome by the robe and pull him toward the door after them.

“Mr. Valeska, you and I need to retire to the bedroom. I’m not walking nearly bowlegged enough.”

His show of dominance and the danger of potentially losing him has you fired up.

Jerome snaps his teeth with a growl and you squeal with excitement as he picks you up, carrying you back to the bedroom.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being patient! As the second half of this fic is pretty intense, I'm spending more time writing each chapter. So updates aren't going to be as frequent. Also I started an aesthetic blog for my fanfics. Take a look if you're interested: theladyslookingglass.tumblr.com

 

The next morning brings the smell of breakfast and coffee. Your stomach growls, which forces your eyes open. Jerome is still fast asleep, arm and leg slung over you, the sun beating down on his pale, freckled body. His arms are decorated with angry scratches, teeth marks forming a ring around one shoulder. You take a second to admire your handiwork, before slowly untangling yourself from his embrace. 

After using the bathroom and freshening up, you turn on the TV above the dresser, switching to the news. After watching for a bit, the only thing you hear about Arkham is a brief mention of the riot. Either the Commissioner is keeping things quiet, or they haven't been able to take a proper head count to see who’s missing. You're betting the latter. 

Anxious to get things going, you crawl back into bed, sliding your hand up Jerome's ass. You give his cheek a hard slap and he groans sleepily. 

“Later, Queenie,” he mumbles. “You'll get yours when I get mine.”

You giggle, leaning down to trace his ear with the tip of your tongue. “Good to know,” you say huskily. “But that's not why I'm waking you. We've got havoc to wreak, puddin’.”

“Oooo, I like havoc,” Jerome purrs, stretching underneath you. “What time is it?”

“Just after eight,” you say. “And so far we're still under the wire. There's no news of our breakout yet.”

“Even better,” he says. He rolls onto his back, sliding his hands behind his head. “Why do we need to go to your family’s company?”

You grin wickedly, raking your nails down his chest. They leave red irritated marks, which will sadly fade, unlike the others. He inhales sharply, arching into the pain. “Loose ends,” you respond. 

Behind you, his morning erection taps persistently. You shift just enough to trap it between your thighs. Grinding down on him, you sigh with contentment. 

“Why can’t we just go right for your stepmom first?” Jerome questions, breath catching in his throat.

“Don't know her whereabouts,” you explain. “I assume she's at the old house, but gotta know for sure before heading there.”

Your fingers traced the bite marks on his neck and shoulders, heart swelling with pride. You've claimed him. He's yours now. It'll be weeks before those markings fade and even then, you'll just give him new ones. Likewise, he stares at you intently, sleepiness replaced with interest and a hint of pride. He runs his hands up your torso, briefly cupping your breasts before moving on to drag his thumb across the dark bruises along your neck. 

“If my calculations are correct,” you continue, growing slick along his length. “By the time we get what we need, they'll be just figuring out we escaped. We'll need something to distract the GCPD.”

Jerome hums, grabbing your hips and thrusting up roughly. “I have some ideas,” he grins. 

“Mmm, thought you might.”

He's just about to tug you down into a kiss when you hop off him.

“Nope, no time,” you giggle at his angry noise. “Was just trying to get you up.”

Jerome kicks away the blankets, gesturing to his hard cock. “Oh I'm up!” he exclaims. His grin is dangerous and you take off running just as he bolts from the bed.

Laughing, you dodge his attempt to grab you, trying to scramble over the bed to get away. Unfortunately, your foot gets tangled in the sheets and Jerome takes the opportunity to dive at you, pinning you onto your stomach. 

“No time, huh?” he asks, sucking the spot just below your ear. 

The chase has you all kinds of worked up, and the weight of Jerome's body makes your toes curl. “Fine. Make it fast,” you order, spreading your legs. “But if I don't come, there will be hell to pay.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Jerome salutes. 

And then he's inside you, and you swear loudly. You're sore from last night. It has been a long time since you've had sex, and going so rough right away probably wasn't the smartest. You tense, and Jerome stills for a second. 

“No, keep going,” you urge, arching your back and grinding against his lap. 

“Think you can handle it?” Jerome mocks, slowly sliding out so only the tip is teasing your hole. 

You slam backwards, impaling yourself on his cock. The intense pleasure overpowers any discomfort. Jerome actually gasps with delight. Glancing at him over your shoulder, you grin. “Wanna question me again?” 

“Nope!”

Fuck, why did you wait so long? You could have been having his dick for a week now. Oh well, that just means you'll have to make up for lost time. 

Draped along your back, Jerome fucks you with deep, quick thrusts. Amidst the sighs and grunts the two of you are making, you hear a soft knock on the door. 

“What?!” you call with annoyance. 

The door opens and one of the servants pokes their head in, immediately averting their gaze. “Oh! I'm so sorry, Miss-”

“Spit it out! What do you want?” you groan, fisting the sheets as Jerome hits that spot inside. “We're a bit busy.”

“Um, uh, b-breakfast is served per your instructions,” the servant stammers. “Your meeting is in less than an hour.”

You throw your head back and Jerome grabs your neck, hot breath panting in your ear. “Yeah okay, thanks,” you mutter.

The servant hurries away, slamming the door behind them. 

Jerome sucks on your shoulder, his other hand worming between you and the bed. As his fingers start to teasingly circle your clit, you catch what the news anchor on TV is saying. 

“We have a breaking story that the riot in Arkham may have resulted in the escape of several inmates.”

You can’t help but laugh. Jerome does the same, filling the room with breathless laughter, and skin slapping skin. 

“No official word yet has been released and Commissioner Essen could not be reached for comment. We will have more details as the story develops.”

Jerome lets go of your neck to grab your hair, holding you firmly down against the mattress. Being completely at his mercy, all you can do is moan and lay there. 

You call his name when you come, jerking violently against the bed, before collapsing boneless underneath him. Now that you're taken care of, he braces himself with his hands on either side of your hips, fucking you with complete abandon. 

Without warning, he comes inside you.

You can feel the pulse of his cock, the warmth of his seed, and the sudden rush of wetness. It makes you whimper. He keeps thrusting, only stopping when there's nothing left, at which point he promptly falls on top of you. Both of you try to catch your breath, though it’s a little difficult with Jerome squishing you. But he’s nuzzling your neck and stroking your hip, so you don’t mind. Eventually, you know you have to get up if you’re going to get to the meeting on time. 

With a groan, you push yourself onto your hands, forcing Jerome to roll off. You get to your unsteady feet. 

Jerome lounges on the bed, cheeks red and eyes bright. “These have been the best twelve hours of my life,” he admits. 

Chuckling, you stretch, wrinkling your nose as you feel his release sliding down your thigh. “They have been spectacular,” you agree. “Question, did you really carve J plus Q into Sionis’s chest?”

Jerome grins, wiggling his eyebrows. “You know it, gorgeous,” he says, sitting up. “Now, you said something about wreaking havoc?”

“Ah yes, we have places to be.” You gesture to the closet door. “Get dressed. I'm gonna wash up.” You head for the bathroom. 

“Wait!” 

You roll your eyes and turn back to Jerome. “Jerome, baby, come on. We have to do this now while we’re still under the radar,” you say. 

He makes a square with his fingers, admiring you through it. “I just want to remember you like this,” he says. 

“After last night, don't you have enough mental images of me naked covered in your jizz?” you ask.

“Blasphemy!” Jerome exclaims. “There'll never be enough.” 

After finally cleaning up and getting dressed, you and Jerome meet the others for a quick breakfast. You don’t have time to enjoy the home cooked meal because you’re on a bit of a deadline, but you do have time to appreciate how it feels being free again. To not be shadowed by guards, to be able to come and go as you please. At least for the moment. Once your faces are plastered everywhere, you’ll have to be careful. 

Driving through the streets of Gotham in a limo certainly isn't the most inconspicuous. However, the tinted windows offer maximum privacy. Greenwood and Dobkins look uncomfortable in the business clothing you made them wear, while Aaron seems indifferent. Jerome looks stunning and is more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him. Though there is a bit of that twitchy energy there. He’s anxious to get out do SOMETHING, but is patient enough for the time being. 

The members of the board are already gathered in the conference room when you're escorted inside. Chuck stands at the head of the table and he smiles as you enter, greeting you by name.

“Please, call me Queenie,” you insist, accepting his hand to shake. “First, let me start off by thanking you for helping me. It has just been  _ unbearable!” _

“Well, I think I speak for all of us when I say that we're just glad you're safe and that this firm will remain in the family,” Chuck says. “We've just brokered a huge deal for Wayne Enterprises and--”

“That's fantastic,” you interrupt. “I apologize for being rude, but unfortunately this meeting with have to be short. I can't be seen, as you can understand.”

“Oh, of course,” Chuck nods. “Please, have the floor.” He ducks out of the way, allowing you to take his place at the head of the table.

You stand in his place, smiling sweetly at the board members. Chuck lied. No one at the table looks glad to see you. The men all seem visibly uncomfortable with your presence. 

“Gentlemen, as I said my time is limited, so I'll be brief,” you say. “My first question is, why aren't there any women directors?” 

Of all the questions, you can tell they weren't expecting that one. They all fidget under your scrutiny and try not to meet your gaze. 

“Well,” Chuck speaks up, nervously tugging his collar. “Your stepmother was for a brief time, but after your father’s mur...death...we felt her ideas weren't suited for the direction we wanted the company to go in.”

“So you just kicked her out?” you ask. 

“She left on her own,” Chuck assures you. “Decided to stay retired and renovating her home.” At your raised eyebrow he hurriedly adds, “I'm sorry,  _ your _ home.”

“Probably for the best,” you say. “Alright, well, hopefully the next board of directors will have women.” At the confused looks you smile at the men. “Which brings me to my next order of business.”

“Are you firing us?” one of the men demands angrily. 

Chuck even looks pale, but you hold up your hand to silence the protests that have already begun. 

“No, no, no,” you say. “I'm not firing you. I just need you as a distraction.”

There are several clicks as Jerome, Aaron, Dobkins, and Greenwood all draw pistols, pointing them at the various board members. 

Chuck is angry and takes a step toward you. “Hold on, you said--”

Reaching under the back of your blazer, you draw your own pistol out from the waistband of your pants, jabbing the barrel right under his chin. “I'm still talking,” you say, eyes trained forward. 

He freezes. You glance over to Jerome. His smile grows wide with excitement. You wink at him. 

“Now,” you say to the rich men at the table. “We're going to take a little field trip to the roof.”

The building is much higher up than you remember. Binding the board members with straitjackets is the easy part. Getting them all up there quickly does take some time. But you and your boys manage just fine. 

By now, the police know you're missing. Which means they are probably going to be expecting you to go right for your stepmom. However, they can't keep tabs on her if they're busy cleaning up after you guys.

The wind picks up and you close your eyes, enjoying it as you hear Greenwood shaking a can of spray paint. 

“You know what this moment needs?” you call to Jerome, opening your eyes once more. 

He regards you curiously. “What’s that?”

You hold up your phone and press play. “Music!”

Jump by Van Halen starts to blare and you put the phone down so you can dance to the tune. Jerome bounces excitedly, rushing over to dance with you. Together you move to the music, while the others shove the members of the board across the roof. Greenwood begins to spray letters on the men's chests and backs.

“I get up! And nothing gets me down!” you sing along. “You got it tough. I've seen the toughest all around.  And I know, baby, just how you feel.  You've got to roll with the punches to get to what's real!”

Aaron manhandles the first person forward, a pudgy guy with the M sprayed in red on his chest. Aaron pulls him towards the edge of the roof. 

“Oh can't you see me standing here,  I've got my back against the record machine,” Jerome joins in, taking your hand and twirling you around. “I ain't the worst that you've seen. Oh can't you see what I mean?”

The board member is struggling against their straitjacket, terrified screams muffled by the duct tape. 

“Might as well jump! Jump!” you sing, kicking the man right in the back. He goes sailing off the edge, falling to his death. “Might as well jump.”

The second man is dragged over, after Greenwood draws a red A on his chest and back. 

“Go ahead, jump. Jump!” Jerome follows up, shoving the next man over. “Go ahead, jump.”

He lands next to the letter M and Jerome takes your hands again, dancing with you in circles. 

“Aaa-ohh Hey you! Who said that?  Baby how you been?” you both belt out. Aaron grabs the man with the N, and you motion for him to throw him over, just like the others. “You say you don't know, you won't know until you begin.”

Dobkins is clapping excitedly to the music, while Greenwood just grins.

You and Jerome stand back to back, playing air guitar. “Well can't you see me standing here, I've got my back against the record machine,” you both sing. “I ain't the worst that you've seen.  Oh can't you see what I mean?”

The letter I is next, which you allow Aaron to throw. 

“Might as well jump. Jump!” Another board member with the letter A is sent to their death. “Go ahead, jump.”

This time you jump onto the ledge to look down at your handiwork. Jerome joins you as Aaron places the second to last board member in between the both of you. 

Jerome motions for him to move the man a bit to the right. 

“Might as well jump. Jump! Go ahead, jump.” 

You and Jerome shove the man at the same time and he goes sailing to his death. As the music amps up, you look back to see Chuck is the only one left. 

“What should we do with the spare?” Dobkins asks. 

“Ooo! I know!” Jerome grins. He hops down from the edge and strolls over to the man, while you continue to dance along with the music. 

You watch him draw an exclamation point on Chuck. 

“Aaron, would you kindly?” Jerome asks.

Aaron grabs the man and lifts him as if he weighs nothing, carrying him over to where you're still dancing. 

“Sorry, Chuck,” you say, patting the man on the head as Aaron lifts him high. “Nothing personal.”

Aaron throws him and you suddenly get the humor in the situation. You start laughing and Jerome does too.

“Hehe, ‘chuck',” Jerome giggles. 

Chuck lands perfectly next to the others, spelling out:  _ Maniax!  _

Jerome holds his arms out and you jump into them, letting him help you down from the ledge. “Now that's a headline,” he grins.

Over the music, you hear the sounds of sirens and your laughter is gone as quickly as it came. “Time to go,” you order, turning the song off. “Enough fun for one morning.”

You hop on Jerome's back and the group of you hurry away before the police swarm the building. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Jump scene is literally the reason this fic exists. I had that scene in my head from day one and knew I needed to write it.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience guys! If you didn't seen my posts, I wanted to have at least rough drafts of all the rest of the chapters before I posted this one. I'm almost there and was feeling good about this chapter so decided to go ahead and post. Thanks for all your comments and likes! I never expected to get such a positive response!

 

It's amazing how scared people get when they hear a group of escaped inmates is on the loose.  

Your faces flood every news outlet as false signings of the Maniax are reported throughout the city. Just that one incident and Gotham is all in a tissy. It's hilarious. 

Currently you sit in the parlor of your penthouse, plotting your next move. 

You had forbidden the boys to do anything for a couple of days. Part of it is because you're waiting for your contact to gather information on your stepmother. Another reason is because you know it's driving the police crazy. 

Imagining the frustration on Jim Gordon's face makes you smirk. Because you know he's assigned to the case. He put both you and Jerome away. If anyone would take the lead on this, it would be him. Which makes you wonder how Lee is handling the situation. 

You still think of her from time to time.

Jerome saunters into the room, looking bored. He hops onto the couch before draping himself across your lap with a dramatic sigh. 

“The idiots are restless,” he announces, tweaking your nose with his finger. “And I am bored. Let's do something.”

You knew this was going to happen. Being in Arkham and then getting loose makes it difficult to sit still. You're also antsy to do something. 

“Is staying home fucking me not enough for you? I see how it is,” you tease, running your hand through his hair. 

Jerome is up instantly, only to straddle your lap. “Queenie, we've got this city soaking in fear,” he growls, cupping your face as he leans in close. “It's been a week. If we don't do something now, they'll forget about us.”

“Not likely,” you argue. “But I see your point. It  _ has _ been long enough. What do you have in mind?”

Jerome's eyes glint. “I get to decide?” he asks.

You grin, hands sliding up his thighs. “Puddin’, I'm focused on getting my stepmother,” you say. “She's most likely being watched. So figuring out how to kidnap her is going to take all my attention. You get to do whatever you want with the boys. As long as you don't get caught.”

“Kidnap?” Jerome questions. “I thought you were going to kill her.”

“Oh I am,” you nod. “You didn't think I wasn't going to have fun first, did you?”

Jerome grins excitedly and gives you a bruising kiss. Trapped beneath him, you squirm and groan, his wicked tongue conjuring all sorts of naughty thoughts. 

“You're something else, Queenie,” he purrs against your mouth.

“I know,” you grin. “Now, what do you suppose we do about this boredom?” 

“I'll need gas truck and a bus full of seniors,” Jerome growls.

“Citizens or high-schoolers?” you chuckle, sliding a hand under his shirt. 

“Younger would be better,” Jerome concludes, unbuttoning his jeans. “People get all weepy when kids get killed.”

“I love it.”

You reach into his pants, your fingers wrapping around his cock. Of course he's hard already, as he usually gets when you two plan murders. He grins down at you as you pull him out, your head dipping low so you can wrap your lips around him. 

The door to the parlor bangs open and Greenwood stomps in. “We're bored!” he announces.

You smirk around his tip at Jerome's exaggerated eye roll. He glances over his shoulder at Greenwood. “We're working on something,” he snaps back. “Get out. I'll come find you after.” He pulls you off and leans down to kiss you.

“No,” Greenwood demands. “We've been locked up here for days. We want to do something now!”

Jerome pauses mid-kiss, expression darkening. Slowly he draws away, tucking himself back in and zipping his pants up. When he gets off your lap, you remain sitting, entranced by the angry presence he suddenly has.

Greenwood shrinks back a little, hands clenched into fists as Jerome takes a few calculating steps in his direction. 

“Why were you in Arkham, Greenwood?” Jerome asks in a low voice.

“Because I terrorized the city,” Greenwood grins with pride.

Jerome makes a buzzer noise. “WRONG!” he barks. “You were in Arkham because you got caught.”

“So did you,” Greenwood is quick to point out. “So did Queenie.”

“Yeah, but you see, we got caught after our first murders. Rookie mistakes,” Jerome says, closing in on the cannibal. “You were killing longer than we were and they still caught you. Yet, now that you're finally free, you want to just charge right out there and go back to killing without any sort of backup?” Greenwood purses his lips and clenches his jaw. Jerome smiles. “And this is why you're not the boss.”

He's right in Greenwood's space now, and you can't help but get to your feet. Seeing him like this always gets to you. He's so forceful and dominating. Just like in the bedroom. You want him to tie you up and fuck you until your legs stop working. 

Greenwood is nervous, but stands his ground.

Jerome suddenly switches, back to being cheerful. “Lucky for you, I've got a plan,” he says excitedly, patting Greenwood's cheek. “Get Aaron and Dobkins to meet me in the armory. We've got some teenagers to kill.”

Greenwood is grinning now too, giving Jerome a somewhat friendly punch to the shoulder, which the redhead does not appreciate. He glares at Greenwood's retreating back, before rounding to look at you. 

“Coming with us, doll face?” he asks as you close in on him. 

“Sure, but I'll watch from a distance,” you say. “Like I said, the Maniax are yours.”

Jerome pulls you against him, arm tight around your waist. “We'll get her,” he assures you. “And you're finally going to finish what you started.”

“Killing the twat won't be the end,” you say. “It's that whole culture she represents that needs to be shaken up. The rich assholes of Gotham think they're invincible. Trust me, her death is only the beginning.”

Jerome groans and attacks you with a harsh kiss. You return the favor, biting his lower lip. It's only a quick kiss however and he's drawing away before you even have a chance to enjoy it. 

“What did she do to you?” he asks.

“Made me feel worthless, made me feel like I would never amount to anything,” you growl. “And was always so fucking  _ smug!  _ About everything. I can’t wait to watch her cower in fear. To make her realize she brought this on herself.”

Jerome kisses you again, hands cradling your face. You cling to his shirt, twisting the cotton fabric as you pull him in close. Normally this is when he throws you on the bed or slams you against a wall, but once he's had his fill of your mouth, he withdraws excitedly. 

“We've got work to do,” he says. He grabs your ass, making you laugh. “We'll finish this later. Something tells me I'm going to be  _ very  _ worked up when we get home.”

“Likewise,” you grin. 

In the armory, the other men are already gathered. You ignore them in favor of examining your weapons. You're not incredibly skilled with any in particular, aside from the pistol you keep by your side. 

“Hmm, what to pick,” you hum to yourself as you walk down the line. Nothing really speaks to you, until you reach a small lock-box. 

Flipping open the lid, you find a number of communication earpieces. You examine them closely as Jerome addresses the others. 

“We're going to give the GCPD a little something to make their day more exciting,” he tells them. 

He goes over the finer points of his plan with them, while you play with the earpieces. They are more advanced than you originally noticed and the longer you play with the settings, the giddier you become. 

Jerome finishes briefing the men and you carry the box over. “This is so we can remain in contact with each other,” you say. “Greenwood, you're three, Aaron, you're four, Dobkins, you're five. Just put them in your ear. Not only can we talk to each other, but there is also a GPS tracking device in each one. You know, if we get separated.”

Aaron takes it without a fuss and pops it into his ear. Dobkins struggles with his device until he eventually gets it in. Greenwood looks suspicious, until you place a device in your ear as well. Only then does he follow your lead.

They leave to get ready, but you make Jerome hang back.

“Here's yours,” you say, holding out the small device. “This way I'm right in your head.”

Jerome laughs softly, putting the bud in his ear. “You're always in my head, Queenie,” he says.

“And your pants.”

“Naturally.”

Leaving the penthouse is a little tricky, but securing a gasoline truck will be trickier. You decide to drive the crew, using a simple, black vehicle you have in your garage. A limo isn't exactly inconspicuous.

Jerome takes point on all of it, however. He picks the truck, he directs the men to take it, and you've never been more proud. You were right; he was wasted in Arkham. 

Once they're in truck, you follow close behind in your own car. It's the perfect time to try out the earpiece, so you speak into it. “Can you hear me, J?”

“I can. You sound sexy.” The audio quality is so clear it's almost as if he's speaking right in your ear. 

You grin. “Do I?” you purr. “Like when you're inside me and I'm calling your name? That kind of sexy?”

“We can all hear you,” Greenwood grumbles.

“You're welcome,” you tell him. Per Jerome's instructions from earlier, you pull the car into a nearby parking lot. It has a perfect view of the intersection where he plans to cut the bus off. 

“Get comfortable everyone,” Jerome says. “Now we play the waiting game.” 

You shift around a bit, reclining the seat and grabbing your phone. The earpieces come with an app for tracking purposes, so you download that while you wait. 

No one speaks, too focused on looking out for the bus. 

At least the men are. You turn your thoughts to how you're going to get into your old house. Since news of your escape has spread, your stepmother has probably hired a full private security team. You don't see her as the type to ask the police for help, mainly because she would be appalled and too proud. 

You used to sneak out and back in all the time when you lived there. So getting in won't be a problem. Getting her out will be a cinch as well. Your father had been a paranoid man. With his mob ties, he was afraid they would get him at some point, and as such had designed a way to make a hasty escape. 

The passage in his study will work. You don't know where it comes out, but you can deal with that when the time comes 

What it boils down to it that you need a distraction. Something to let you slip into the house unseen. 

Once your contact comes through you'll have more to go on. You haven't heard from him in a few days, but you're not worried. You've known him for years; he's good for it. And you won't have to put out. Not that you do that sort of thing anymore. 

You're pulled out of your musings by the sound of tires screeching. As you watch, Jerome and the others park the gas truck in front of the bus and spring into action. 

Still playing around with the app, you find a new collection of settings. With a few tweaks, you're able to switch you and Jerome to a private channel.

“I think I figured out to make it just you and me, babe,” you purr.

There is silence for a moment before Jerome says softly, “Excellent. Why don't you talk dirty to me while I fill this bus with gasoline?”

A ripple of desire runs through you and you sit up excitedly. On the com you can hear screams of terror as Jerome laughs, and you run your hand down your chest. 

“I can’t wait to get you home again,” you purr. “Seeing you like this: in charge and unhinged...it makes me wet.”

It's true. Your underwear is already damp and you have to adjust to give yourself some relief. Part of you wishes you were right there next to him, helping him terrorize those students. But the perverted part of you is more than happy to watch from a distance and just get off on it. 

“Oh yeah? Does it?” Jerome growls. You hear a gunshot and he suddenly bellows, “ _ I said give me an ‘O'!” _

“I'll give you an ‘O' when we get home,” you promise. “Fuck you're sexy like this.”

Jerome laughs with glee and you can see him spraying gasoline all over the inside of the bus. It's suddenly very hot in the car and you unbutton your shirt to cool off.

“When you're like this it reminds me of the other night. Remember that servant guy smiled at me? So you bent me over the couch and fucked me right in front of him. Amazing.”

“Touch yourself,” Jerome orders. “I want to hear you.” You watch him bounce out of bus reach for his pocket, “Now where's that lighter…”

It's moments like this that make you wish you’d worn a skirt instead of pants. You're just about to undo the top button of your jeans when you hear sirens. “Oh for fuck’s sake!” you exclaim.

“To be continued, Queenie,” Jerome giggles. “I need to say hello to Detective Gordon.”

Fuck Jim Gordon. He ruins everything. 

Arousal forgotten, you start the car and watch the GCPD try to stop the Maniax. Bullets fly and you grip the steering wheel tight, anxiety and anger spiking each time someone takes a shot at your man. 

Jerome's showboating with the gun is particularly entertaining, however. It reignites your arousal for a few seconds. But it's clear they're outnumbered, and they're going to have to make a hasty getaway. 

Jerome must realize it too, because he orders them back to the truck. Except for Dobkins. He stays behind to light the fuel Jerome couldn't.  

As you watch the others get into the truck, Jim manages to run at Dobkins, taking him down. Shit. That sucks. 

The gas truck goes speeding past your parking spot, but you're too busy clicking through the app on your phone to follow. Your car is already on, and once the men ditch the van, they'll double back to you. 

You're more focused on Gordon wrestling Dobkins to his feet. Shame. You do hate loose ends. 

The doors to the car suddenly open and the others pile it. Jerome rides shotgun, while Greenwood and Aaron squeeze into the back.

“Go!” Jerome urges. 

“Just a moment, please,” you say calmly, scrolling through the app. You switch to the group channel.

“You're going to tell us everything,” you hear Gordon order through Dobkins’s earpiece. 

“Okay, but I'm gonna need protection! I'll tell you everything but you gotta promise me—”

“Queenie, what are you waiting for?” Greenwood demands. “Drive!”

“Hey, babe, what number was Dobkins?” you ask. 

“Five,” Jerome answers.

You speak into your earpiece. “Sorry, Arnold,” you say, cutting him off. “It's been a great partnership. I'm afraid however this is where we part ways.”

You press the button next to the number five. 

Across the way, Dobkins suddenly screams in pain, falling to his knees in front of Gordon. With glee you watch Gordon freak out, kneeling with him while yelling for backup. Dobkins starts bleeding from the ears and nose, spewing red over Jim's clean white shirt. 

After a few seconds, Dobkins slumps over. Dead.

Satisfied, you drop the phone in the cup holder and casually put the car in drive. Aaron is grinning, Greenwood is stunned, and Jerome is yelling with excitement, leaning out of the window as you speed off . 

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still working on drafting future chapters but I just got a fic commission so I'm gonna be tied up with that for a bit. So the next update to this won't be for about two weeks. Enjoy!

 

Greenwood is not pleased. 

As soon as the four of you step into the penthouse, he rips the earpiece out and rounds on you. “A kill switch?!” he exclaims.

Glaring, you cross your arms. “Yeah, a kill switch,” you say. “Dobkins was going to rat on us the second they got him to the precinct. I did what I had to do.”

“A brilliant decision, as always,” Jerome commends, giving you a slight bow. He removes his earpiece and hands it back to you.

“How can you be okay with this?” Greenwood demands as Aaron also hands over his communicator. “She can kill us at any time when we wear these!”

“You're assuming I can’t kill you at any time  _ period _ ,” you say. “Greenwood, I could have had you choked to death the second I met you.”

“You can’t--”

“I  _ can _ .” You snap your fingers. “Aaron, take care of Greenwood.”

The giant man doesn't even hesitate. He reaches out and wraps his large hand around Greenwood’s neck. Behind you, Jerome moves in close. His chest touches your back, rising and falling with excited harsh breathing.

“Finish it.  _ Please, _ ” he whispers in your ear. 

Tempting.

As Greenwood struggles however, you decide not to kill him. Not yet anyway. He's still useful to Jerome as a lackey. “Aaron, that's enough,” you order.

Aaron looks confused but releases Greenwood, who collapses onto the ground as he coughs violently. Jerome makes a noise of disappointment. You ignore him in favor of stepping forward, kneeling down to Greenwood’s level. 

“You keep making the mistake of underestimating me,” you say. “If I wanted to get my hands dirty, I wouldn't even have Aaron do it. I'd do it myself.”

It's amazing that after everything he's witnessed, he still thinks he’s better than you. Hilarious. 

_ “I’m  _ in charge here.  _ I  _ got us out.  _ I  _ am hiding us from the GCPD. And if one of you is going to turn on me, I  _ will _ get rid of you. I don't like loose ends. I told you once before that you needed to prove yourself useful. And you have. But make no mistake; you are dispensable. Clear?”

Greenwood clenches his jaw, eyes downcast. Silently, he nods. 

Jerome claps excitedly. “Glad we got that sorted out!” he exclaims. “Great job team! Now, I know Dobkins botched the execution. But that just means we need to plan something even bigger and better for next time. We need something  _ grand _ . A showstopper.”

“There’s a benefit dinner happening in a few weeks,” you say, standing straight. “Gotham’s elite will be there. The richest of the rich.”

Jerome's eyes shine and he starts to pace. You can see that his mind is going a mile a minute as he brainstorms ideas. “So many plans so little time!” he grins. 

“You can focus on that,” you say. “In a few days I move on my stepmother.”

“What do you need from us?” Greenwood croaks as he stands.

“Nothing. Not on this one,” you say. “It's personal. I'd rather handle it myself.”

Jerome's smile fades and he looks put out. “I want to be there when you kill the bitch,” he says. 

You had considered bringing him with along. The need to have him close by your side is great. However, with the GCPD on high alert, you think it's best he sit this one out. 

“Too risky,” you say, removing your jacket. “Besides, if things go south then you need to be here to run the show.”

“Excuse me, ma’am,” a servant appears with a bow. “The visitor you sent for has arrived.”

Perfect. Your contact has finally pulled through.

“Excellent, show him to my study,” you say. The servant leaves and you address the men. “Don't interrupt unless it's an emergency.”

You know Jerome is angry with the dismissal, and bristling at the idea of you having a  _ visitor _ , but you've waited quite impatiently for this person and you're not going to wait longer than you have to. Which is why you arranged for him to be picked up and brought to you. When you arrive, the room is empty, so you take time to make yourself presentable. 

A few seconds later, the door opens and Oswald Cobblepot limps in, a thick envelope clutched in his hand.

“Oswald! Nice to see you again,” you say, crossing to meet him. 

“Were the black bag and muscled bodyguards necessary for this visit?” he asks, annoyed.

“Of course,” you say. “Can't just let  _ anyone  _ know my super secret hideout.”

Oswald adjusts his suit jacket with indignation. “You're looking well,” he says with a forced smile. “It's Queenie now, right?”

You share an air kiss to each cheek. “It is,” you say. “Man, how long has it been? Last time I saw you, my father had dragged me and that wife of his to Fish's club.”

“Yes, it has been long,” Oswald comments. “And look at us now. You murdered your father, and I run that club.”

“We were always the smart ones,” you grin.

Despite the familiarity and light conversation, you're no fool. You and Oswald aren't friends. Not by a long shot. There's a tone of distrust under the false pleasantries. This is a business relationship. One you need to cash in on.

“Please, have a seat,” you offer, gesturing to the armchairs by the window. 

“I can’t stay, unfortunately,” he declines. “I have a club to run, as you know.”

There's a beat, both of you trying to feel the other out. With anyone else you would insist they stay, maybe pout if you have to. However, you can sense Oswald won't back down, so you don't bother dragging this out. “Did you come across any trouble?” you ask.

“Please,” he scoffs. “You insult me.” You extend your hand for the envelope, but he looks at it with amusement and raises his eyebrows. “Our agreement first.”

“Of course.” You force a smile and draw your phone out of your pocket. Oswald watches carefully as you make a show of transferring the agreed upon money to his account. “There. All set.”

Oswald smiles back, slapping the envelope into your hand. “Pleasure,” he says, offering you a slight bow. “Never liked that woman. Too handsy.”

You draw out the photos of your stepmother. “Among other things,” you agree, carrying the packet to your desk. “Security still tight?”

Oswald follows. “Seems so,” he says. He shuffles through the photos as you spread them out. “These were taken a few days ago. She has a full team. Patrols like clockwork.” 

“Any sign of the GCPD?” you ask.

Oswald nods, selecting one or two images that show the unmarked police cars. “There are surveillance vans everywhere. I'd be careful.”

“But where's the fun in that?” you smirk.

Oswald gives a genuine grin at your response. “I thought you might like the challenge,” he says. “Are you bringing the ginger maniac with you?” 

“No,” you say, flipping through the photos. “You said these were taken a few days ago?”

“Yes. I had my men back-off when Jim Gordon stopped by.”

“That man just can't mind his own business,” you growl.

“Agreed,” Oswald grumbles. “Well, as lovely as this was, I must be going.” He limps to the door before stopping to look back your way. “Once things calm down, feel free to pay the club a visit.”

“Oh I will,” you assure him. “Save a booth for me.”

As soon as he leaves, you sit down in your chair and get to work examining the photos more closely. You become so engrossed in your work, that not even the soft click of the study door opening is enough to draw your attention. 

Now that you have some visual assistance, you're able to begin constructing a plan. 

Jerome suddenly drops across your desk, scattering the photos. “Pay attention to me,” he demands.

Torn between amusement and annoyance, you glare. “You get all my attention at night,” you say. “What do you want? Also don't you have your own planning to do?”

“I'm coming with you,” he announces. “You need me.”

Amused, you lean back in your chair. “Oh do I?” you question. 

Jerome glares, swinging his legs around to rest on either side of you. “Yes, you do,” he growls. “And I don't appreciate being dismissed.”

“Oh boo hoo,” you mock. “Look who's all butt-hurt.”

You move to stand, but as soon as you do Jerome grabs you, arms and legs wrapping around you to secure you in place. “Don't mock me,” he demands. “You're not leaving my sight. I'm going with you.”

You reach up to grab his cock through his pants, and though he jerks with surprise, he doesn't let you go. “And do what?” you question. As you lean in, lips brushing his cheek, you give him a hard rub. “What are you gonna do for me, J?”

“Whatever you need,” Jerome grunts.

You consider his words and look back down at the photos. There’s a chance this is all a trap. Gordon was poking around the place, and you trust Oswald about as far as you can throw him. Having Jerome with you could provide an edge. Plus, you do need a way to draw security’s attention.

“I need a distraction,” you conclude. 

“I'm good at those, remember?” Jerome grins. He turns his head so your lips are touching. 

You laugh, slipping your arms around his neck and completing the kiss. “Clearly.”

Jerome hungrily bites at your lips, letting out an obscene grunt. “We're more dangerous together than apart,” he pants between kisses. “We shouldn't separate. Not now.”

“It could be a setup,” you say, pushing against him until he's laying on the desk. 

“That's what makes it even more  _ fun!” _ Jerome laughs, yanking you on top of him. “Now ride me. I've wanted you bouncing on my dick since this morning.”

 

The house looks exactly the same. It's enough to give you that tightening feeling in your chest and stab of anger. You watch from the hedges in the backyard, Jerome at your side. 

“Keep in contact when you can,” you remind him, fiddling with your earpiece. “If all else fails, we meet back here.”

Jerome nods with understanding. He grabs your face and slips you the tongue, before yanking away with a grin. “Give her hell, doll face.”

“Make them run, puddin’.”

Another grin flashed your way and then he's gone in the direction of the garage. You're left alone, waiting for Jerome to do his part.

This is it. The last couple of days have been torture. You’ve wanted this moment for so long; your hands are practically twitching. The pistol strapped to your ankle feels heavy. You resist the urge to grab it. Not yet. You’d rather do this with a knife anyways. More poetic you think. 

After another minute of waiting, you grin as smoke starts to rise from the direction of the garage. Security guards rush to check out the source, and Jerome’s voice sings in your ear, “Yourrrrrr turrrnnnnn!”

You make your move.

The vines leading up to your window are still strong and you climb them swiftly. Using your knife, you manage to pop the lock, and slip into the house. 

What was once your bedroom is now a home gym, complete with a full range of equipment. You snort with disbelief and carefully tip-toe across the room. With a strange feeling of deja vu, you crack open the door and peek into the hall.

No one in sight. 

The house is different, and yet the same as you slowly creep along. Now that you're inside, that sick feeling in your stomach is back. The sooner you're out of this place, the better. You have to duck into the hall closet when you hear voices, but they fade as quickly as they come. 

“In the house,” you whisper to Jerome. “What's your position?”

“Not under, above, in front, or behind you, so very boring actually,” Jerome says. “Oops. Guard ahead. Gotta go.”

He's not the only one who needs to keep moving. 

You slip out of the closet and continue on. Downstairs, you hear the fire alarm is going off in the garage on the other side of the house. It's drawing the attention of the guards, allowing you to move with relative ease. 

And then you see her. At least from the back. 

She's standing with one of the guards, wringing her hands as they wait for a status report. 

“Get her to the study,” someone says over the walkie-talkie. “She may need to be evacuated.”

Silent as a mouse, you sprint down the hall and into the room they're heading toward. 

Your father's study is large with two exits. One is being guarded, but you sneak up on the man and slit his throat with no problem. Dragging him into a corner, you have mere seconds to lock one door and hurry to wait behind the other.

You just get into position when you hear the knob on the locked door turn, followed by retreating footsteps. Excellent. They're going around. 

Your excitement cannot be contained and you grin, clutching the knife. The door creaks open and your stepmother walks into the room. Without warning you slam the door shut and lock it. She jumps and spins around. You grab her, slamming her against the wall as hard as possible. But as you press the tip of the knife under her chin, the wig slips away and you find yourself staring at Lee.

She glares back defiantly. “Hello, Queenie,” she says. 

Surprised, angry, and slightly amused, you give a dark chuckle. “Well, well, hello, to you too, beautiful,” you say. 

Behind you there's a click and you glance over your shoulder to find Jim pointing his gun. “We were expecting you,” he says.

No one speaks for a moment. Fucking Oswald. He's so on your list. 

“Hello, Detective Gordon,” you eventually say. “You look dashing, as always.”

Jim steps away from the secret door behind the bookcase. “Put the knife down, Queenie,” he orders. “It's over. We have you.”

“I see you found the back entrance,” you giggle. Over the earpiece, Jerome giggles as well.

“I'm trying,” he says, making you grin wider.

Jim doesn't look amused and Lee even rolls her eyes. You yank her forward and spin so she's between you and Gordon, your knife still at her throat. “So what have you done with the bitch?” you ask, ignoring his warning.

“She safe from you,” Lee snaps. “Away from this place.”

“Away from the house maybe. But I know she's still in Gotham. She’d never leave. Can't say I'm exactly surprised to see you here, Jim,” you drawl. “I am, however,  _ delighted _ to see you again, Lee.”

You lean in close, nuzzling her neck. She freezes in place and Jim's grip on his gun tightens. 

“If you knew this was a trap, why did you come?” Jim questions. 

You press your cheek to Lee's as you mockingly ponder his inquiry. “Hmmm. Well, many reasons, really,” you say. “Curiosity. Ambition. Boredom. Take your pick. Mostly it was because I didn't know for sure and I couldn't pass up a chance if she  _ was  _ here.”

Lee’s body is radiating warmth and you carefully press your free hand on her stomach, drawing her closer. She's still frozen in place and Jim is gripping his gun so tight, his knuckles are white. The doctor smells wonderful. Like vanilla and honey. 

You feel your body tingling and you brush your lips against her ear as you say, “You know, I'm feeling _very_ into you right now. If I was capable of an erection, it would be poking you persistently.”

“I've said it before and I'll say it one more time,” Lee grumbles. “I'm not having sex with you.”

“Are you sure?” you purr, hand sliding downward.

Before you can touch any lower, Jim cocks his gun. “Queenie, let her go,” he orders. “Back up will be here any second. You're done.”

“But she's so  _ soft  _ and  _ warm,”  _ you say. 

Lee suddenly grips your wrist with one hand and elbows you in the stomach. You stumble backwards, dropping the knife and giving her enough leeway to break free. She tries to get out of the line of fire, but you dive tackle her to the ground.

Jim moves in close to intervene, however you manage to gain the upper hand. Rolling onto your back you wrap your arms and legs around Lee, once again putting her in the way of Jim's gun. This time you seize your pistol and press the barrel to her temple. 

“Okay, I came out to have a good time and am honestly feeling so attacked right now,” you pant. “Next time you see Oswald, tell him we are going to sit down and have a chat.”

“Where are Jerome and the others?” Jim demands. 

Great question. Jerome must have heard because his voice comes into your ear. “Ask and you shall receive.”

“Why don't you just take the shot, Jimmy?” you egg Gordon on. “What? You afraid of hitting her?”

It's true. He's terrified, though masking it very well. He's so focused on you, he doesn't sense the bookcase door move behind him. 

“How did you escape?” he demands, chancing another step closer. “We know you had outside help. I want names!”

“Oh I can give you a fuck ton of names,” you say, struggling to maintain your hold on Lee as she fights you. “Whether or not they'll help you is irrelevant.” Lee presses into you in her attempt to escape and you groan slightly. “Keep that up, Doc, and you're going to have to finish what you're starting.”

In the distance you hear sirens and it makes you pout. 

Jim smirks. “See? I told you,” he says. 

“Well, looks like we better hurry then,” you say. 

“ _ Jim! _ ” Lee shouts suddenly. 

Jim turns around to find Jerome standing behind him. “Surprise!” the redhead grins. 

He hits the detective across the face with a heavy book, knocking him out cold. Jim falls to the ground with a thud. Jerome whistles as he tosses the book onto the desk. When he looks down at you and Lee, he giggles. 

“Don't you two look close,” he notes. 

“You're both insane,” Lee spits. “And you'll get what's coming to you.”

Jerome shrugs and scoops up Jim's gun. “Blah, blah, blah,” he says. “You done playing, doll face? We've got company coming. Seems this was a trap after all.”

“Wish I could play more, but she's not into it. Shame,” you say. Jerome points the gun at her and you let her go. “Up you get, Doc.”

Carefully Lee gets to her feet, hands in the air. You hop up and dust yourself off. “Well, pleasurable as always, Lee,” you say, saluting with your pistol.

You hear the sound of the doors on either side being pounded on. 

“Time to go,” Jerome says, yanking you in close. “Do you want to take her with us?”

Lee pales, lips pursed tightly. You consider it for a moment before shaking your head. “It's no fun if she's not willing,” you say. “We're criminals not animals. Though she does have a nasty habit of getting in our way.”

Jerome presses his lips to your ear. “We should probably kill her then,” he whispers. 

One of the doors give a dangerous crack. “No time,” you say, pulling him toward the bookcase. “Plus, she'll be useful later. Let's get out of here.”

With eyes still trained on Lee, you and Jerome back out through the secret door, shutting it behind you. 

Whistling, he pulls the small bottle of accelerant out of his pocket. He sprays it across the back of the bookcase and creates a puddle on the floor. You both back up as he lights the lighter and tosses it.

The door goes up in flames and he laughs while you yank on his hand, pulling him along to make your escape.

  
  



	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayo! Commission is done so I'm back! This chapter is a little longer than I anticipated but I'm not complaining. Shits going down and we're nearing the end. Crazy. Anywho, enjoy!

 

Pure rage tints your vision red as you slam the penthouse door behind you.

“ _ FUCK!”  _ you scream. The nearest breakable object is a vase on the table by the coat rack. You seize it and smash against the wall, pieces scattering in all directions. 

Greenwood and Aaron emerge as several servants try to make themselves scarce. You're too busy throwing furniture to notice, until Greenwood says, “Things go south?”

You point your pistol in his direction and fire, hitting the painting right by his head. “Ask me  _ one more fucking question!”  _ you challenge. “Go ahead!  _ I fucking dare you!” _

Greenwood snaps his mouth shut, hands over his ears to quell the ringing from the blast. 

“We probably should have killed them both that night in her office,” Jerome says casually.

You round on him, only to find that smug grin. “Let me guess,” you snarl. “You find this hilarious, don't you?”

Any other time you’d be right there laughing with him. This is not one of those times. Out of all the people for Oswald to team up with, you can't believe it's Gordon. Honestly. You can't wrap your head around it. Although, the more you think about the likelihood of such a partnership, the more it's possible  the GCPD figured things out themselves. If so, you may have just ratted out Cobblepot. 

Jerome's grin turns sinister and he struts over to you. “Your fury is amazing,” he growls. His face softens into a condescending smile. “You're so cute when you're angry.”

Lust mixes with fury. You know what he's doing. He's egging you on, wanting you to snap. Maybe he’s curious to see how far you'll take things. Maybe he's just being an asshole. 

Either way, fuck him. 

“Bedroom,  _ now!”  _ you bark, seizing the front of his shirt.

Aaron and Greenwood have to practically dodge out of your way. Jerome allows you to drag him to the room you share, and once inside, you lock the door. 

Jerome looks excited, bouncing in place. “Well, Queenie--”

“Shut up and strip!” you order, dropping your gun onto the dresser. 

Jerome automatically starts to do as you say, eyes shining. “Ooo, you're being so  _ demanding _ . Working out some frustrations, doll face?”

You're busy stripping down yourself, angrily yanking your clothes off. He barely lets his shirt fall before you shove him onto the bed. Wiggling out of whatever garments you haven't already disposed, you scramble to straddle his lap. 

“Kinda sucks that your plan backfired,” Jerome continues. “And to think, you were going to leave me behind. You almost made  _ two  _ mistakes.”

“I  _ said  _ shut up!” you force through gritted teeth. Your hand closes around his throat and his mouth falls open in excitement. 

“Why? What happens if I don't?” he challenges. 

You swoop in for a kiss, but midway through decide to bite down on his bottom lip instead, drawing out a cry of pain mixed with a giggle. “Then I'll make you,” you growl. 

“Ooo, how scary.”

Red hot rage rears its ugly head again and and you crawl up Jerome's body.

“What are you planning to-- _ mpfh! _ ”

His words are cut off when you sit on his face, your thighs spread open over his mouth. He reaches up, but you lock your hands around his wrists and pin them above his head. Without warning you grind against his mouth.

Jerome moans and you feel his wet tongue slide along your cunt. He looks up at you, perfectly happy with the turn of events. In the back of your mind, you know him getting to taste you isn't much of a punishment. Though, it got him to shut up so you call it a win. Your body warms and you feel your own slick join Jerome's spit as you ride his tongue. 

With all your careful planning, you took a chance and it came back to bite you in the ass. Now your stepmother is hidden somewhere in Gotham and the GCPD are one step ahead of you. The thought makes your anger flare and you take it out on Jerome’s face, grinding harder.

The grip on his wrists is tight, causing a rush of perverse glee when you realize you're going to bruise him. And he won't be able to cover them up like the others. You glance over your shoulder to admire the trail of bite marks and hickeys down his chest. The bulge in his boxers swells under your scrutiny, making your mouth water. 

Jerome is anything but silent beneath you. He hums, grunts, and groans, eyes falling closed to lose himself in the taste and feel of you. You return your gaze to his face, loving the flush of his pale cheeks. 

Letting his wrists go, you bury your fingers in his hair, putting your full weight on him as you tug on the red strands. He growls and seizes your thighs, shoving his tongue as far up into you as he can. Red marks adorn his wrists and some of them are already starting to darken. 

Your current position is murder on your knees, and after a few more seconds, you reluctantly climb off. Jerome's face is bright red, lips and chin glistening with your arousal. He follows your lead, waiting for you to fall on your back before returning to where he was before.

He ducks his head between your legs, throwing them over his shoulders. Eagerly he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking hard. Your hips jerk upward and you grab his hair again. 

Between the gyrating of your hips and the cleverness of his tongue, you can feel your orgasm approaching, and the anger starts to boil down to a simmer.

Jerome presses two fingers into you, his mouth still toying with your clit. He doesn't move them, the asshole. Just keeps them there to tease. You’re forced to fuck yourself on his fingers.

When you come it's harsh and unforgiving, just like Jerome's hand and mouth. The pleasure cascades over you again and again, until it finally recedes and you're left shaking. Boneless, you sink against the mattress with a satisfied purr. 

“Okay, I'm good now,” you giggle.

Jerome pulls back with a smack of his lips, grinning. “And you taste good too,” he comments before diving back down for another lick. 

You let him have his fun, tucking your hands behind your head. Satisfied for the time being, your mind drifts to the run in you had, and you can't help make a noise of annoyance. 

“That Jim Gordon is really starting to piss me off,” you grumble. 

Jerome huffs, nuzzling your navel as he comes up from between your legs. You can't help moaning when his fingers slip out. “Were you thinking about him the whole time I was going down on you?” he demands. 

You give a small giggle. “Of course not,” you say. “I was thinking about Dr. Thompkins.”

Jerome smiles gleefully. “ _ That  _ I'm okay with,” he says. “Picturing the two of you together while I watch…” He sucks your arousal from his fingers, moaning with longing. 

You laugh, shoving him onto his back. Quickly, you yank his boxers down and he helps you get rid of them. “I was teasing. Pervert,” you say. 

“I don’t hear you complaining,” he points out. 

“And here I thought you’d be all jealous,” you chuckle, running your hands up his legs and to his chest. “Aren't I  _ yours? _ ” You straddle his waist and dig your nails into his skin, causing him to jerk upward.

Jerome grabs your thighs, squeezing tightly. “You are,” he grunts. “All mine.”

“But you're willing to share with Dr. Thompkins?” you tease.

Jerome’s eyes glint mischievously as he relaxes underneath you. “If you're willing to share her,” he says. 

You laugh again, this time slightly breathless. “You're a dirty, dirty man, Valeska.”

“Again, I don't hear you complaining.”

“Oh, I'm not,” you assure him. “All joking aside, we need to do something about Gordon. He's starting to get in the way. And I need to find out where they moved my stepmom. I'm assuming it's a safe-house of some kind.”

Jerome suddenly sits up, the force throwing you onto your back. His fingers  dig into your thighs, which are still around his waist. “I have an idea,” he announces, grinning devilishly. “The perfect way to punish Gordon  _ and _ get the information we need.”

“Ooo tell me! Tell me!” you urge, propping yourself up on your elbows. 

“We attack them,” Jerome says, eyes darkening. 

“Who?”

“The GCPD,” Jerome clarifies. “Go in and show them and the world just what we can do.”

Excitement makes your chest heave and you allow Jerome to pull you up onto his lap completely. 

“And while we're there,” he continues, hands sliding around to grab your ass. “We'll have a nice  _ chat  _ with the Commissioner about where they're keeping your stepmother.”

You groan, sliding your arms around his shoulders and leaning in close. “You're amazing,” you gush, gently grinding against the erection currently trapped between your legs. “We were made for each other, J. If anything happened to you I would kill everyone, including myself.”

Jerome’s lips curl into an amused smile and he crushes you to his chest. “We're going to show them all how pathetic they are. How they can never be as free as us.”

Kissing takes priority over plotting, as the sight of each other's naked bodies becomes too tempting to ignore. You lift yourself and slide onto his cock, moaning loudly. Jerome squeezes your ass and thrusts upward, burying himself to the hilt.

“We also need someone to pin the break out on,” you gasp, rolling your hips. “I tied up my loose ends, but if they keep digging into my past, they could uncover my aliases or hidden accounts.”

“Oh no, we can't have that,” Jerome tuts. “I demand to be kept in the lavish lifestyle I've grown accustomed to.”

Clearly he's joking. You know he could give two shits about your money. If it was up to you, you’d burn it all yourself. Unfortunately, money gets you very far in Gotham so that's not an option at the moment. 

“And you will,” you promise, dragging your lips along his jaw. “As long as we find a patsy. How about it? Got anyone you want to see dead?”

“Oh, I have the perfect target,” Jerome says with glee. 

With a growl he pushes you down onto the mattress.

\---

According to your sources, Jim has been ordered to take a few days off for the head injury Jerome dealt him. Which means it’s the perfect time to strike the GCPD. He won't be there to intervene and the guilt will eat him alive. Two for the price of one!

Jerome makes all the plans. You never get tired of watching him command the others. He switches from animated to serious in an instant, and even you find his dark charisma too compelling to resist. 

Sneaking in will be easy. 

On your way out of your father's house, you and Jerome had taken down a few of GCPD’s finest and stole their uniforms to make your escape. Your lackeys use them again, this time to gather more uniforms for everyone else. Except for you and Aaron. The big guy will be waiting by the limo as backup. And you’d much rather wear your own ensemble. 

“I have to say,” you purr, watching Jerome get dressed. “There is something sexy about a man in uniform.”

Jerome grins at you over his shoulder, adjusting his tie. “If you want sex, it'll have to be quick,” he says. “We've got a precinct to invade.”

You smile, smoothing down your pencil skirt. “We'll save it for later,” you promise. “Depending on how this goes, it's going to be a long night.”

Jerome flips the collar of his jacket and stalks toward you. “Queenie, it's going to be  _ magnificent _ ,” he insists. “The sheep won't know what hit them. Do you have the camera?”

“Of course I do, it's loaded up already,” you say. “Though I was hoping you wanted it to record us fucking. This works too.”

Jerome's eyes light up and he hooks an arm around your waist, tugging you forward into a kiss. “Next time,” he promises. “For now, I'll use it to spread our message to the masses.”

Your body shivers with anticipation and you fist his shirt, pulling him even closer. “They'll never know what hit them.”

The drive to the precinct is done in silence, with the Maniax and a few hired guns all squished together. Silent rides before heists seem to be a trend. Everyone is either nervous or excited, or some mixture of both. 

You're twitchy whereas Jerome is dead still, staring out the window with a small smile. It's actually a bit unnerving. What you wouldn't give to hear what he's thinking. 

Once the car is parked in a nearby parking lot, everyone but you and Aaron climbs out. Jerome is last. He says nothing, only gives you a kiss for luck, and then he's gone. The plan is for them to shoot up the place and once then it's clear, he'll call you in. 

They aren't gone more than five minutes when you spot something that pisses you off.

Jim fucking Gordon eases out of his car, wincing. Of course he’d ignore doctor's orders. Shit.

“Aaron, with me,” you order, getting out of the limo. 

The two of you follow Gordon as he heads toward the precinct. With a wave of your hand, you send Aaron down an alley to hide, before calling out. “Jim Gordooooonnnn.”

He immediately stops, slowly looking back over his shoulder. The utter  astonishment on his face is comical. You wave and casually duck down the alley. Because he's Jim Gordon, he follows. 

“Queenie, stop!” you hear behind you. 

Humoring him, you do, spinning around. “Aren't you supposed to be resting?” you scold, hands on your hips.

Jim cocks his gun. “You're coming with me,” he orders.

“Yeah, noooo.”

Aaron jumps down from his hiding place, knocking Gordon to the ground. His gun goes skidding away, and you stand there, happily watching Aaron beat the shit out of the thorn in your side. 

“How goes?” you ask into your earpiece.

“ _ Explosive,”  _ Jerome responds, cackling. In the background you hear a grenade go off. “You're good to come in.”

“Just a minute,” you say. “Taking care of our best friend.”

“Well hurry,” Jerome growls. “I need you.”

“Mmm, I need you too,  _ Mistah _ .”

Amidst Jerome's pleased laughter, you can hear screaming in the background. Smiling, you snap your fingers and Aaron lays off Gordon. The man is sprawled on the ground, blood pouring from his nose and mouth. You strut over to him and plop yourself on his chest.

“Jimmy, you have got to be the worst detective in the world,” you tut. “You get jumped  _ again _ , lose your gun  _ again _ …”

Jim coughs, blood trickling down the corner of his mouth. “We'll stop you,” he grunts.

“Eh, probably,” you admit. “But considering I was able to lure you away this easily, probably not. I did realize something though these last couple of days. The whole thing with my stepmother was way too clever to be the work of the GCPD. It was Lee's idea, wasn't it?”

Jim purses his lips.

“Yeah, thought so,” you smirk. “Which means Oswald  _ didn't  _ sell me out. That makes me feel a little better.”

“No, but when I see him again--” Jim immediately realizes his mistake and cuts himself off, clenching his jaw.

You gasp. “ _ Again? You've  _ been seeing that penguin?” you say gleefully. “Oh. My. God. Gordon... _ are you in his pocket?” _

Jim's face hardens. “I'm in  _ no one's  _ pocket!” he snaps. He tries to reach for you, but Aaron jams his boot into his wrist. Jim screams in pain. 

“Maybe not, but you've had dealings,” you realize. “Interesting. Alright, filing that away for blackmail later. I'm on a tight schedule and can’t have you ruining my puddin’s moment.”

You punch him in the face and the force knocks his head against the pavement. He goes limp and you pat his cheek.

“Poor predictable Gordon,” you sigh. “I  _ almost  _ feel sorry for him.” 

Aaron helps you to your feet and you leave the detective bleeding on the ground.

The precinct is a beautiful disaster. Happily skipping over dead bodies, you give your lackeys a nod as you make you way across the room. Jerome has Essen tied to a chair and he's busy framing his shot. 

“There she is,” he grins. “You almost missed my shining moment!”

Aaron lifts you onto the two desks Jerome has pushed together.

“Never,” you coo, allowing Jerome to pull you closer. You look at the woman tied to the chair and give her a mock salute. “Commissioner. Pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Hell of a first week you're having,” Jerome tells her. “Wish we could say it's going to be better…” 

“It's not,” you interject. 

Greenwood is shuffling over with the camera and Jerome calls to him, “Bring that up here. We'll get a better angle of the room.”

The cannibal listens, heaving himself up onto the makeshift platform. 

“Why are you doing this?” Essen asks, her voice filled with sorrow. 

“To rule the world,” Jerome answers. “Blah blah blah. But we'll settle for some dead cops and some good PR.” He snickers. “Kidding.”

“Of course he is. We have a very specific reason,” you remind him.

Jerome snaps his fingers. “Yes, right! That we do. See, you guys took away m’lady’s revenge and, well, she's not happy. And if Queenie's not happy, I'm not happy.”

“All we need is the location of my stepmother,” you say, beginning slow pacing movements in front of her. 

Essen glares. “I'm not telling you anything,” she snaps. 

“Uh yeah, duh, we figured,” Jerome snorts. He gestures to the destroyed room. “Why do think this happened? You wouldn't tell us if we didn't make a compelling argument.”

You take a step forward so you and Jerome are side-by-side. “Commissioner, there are some things that are inevitable. The sun rising, the earth spinning, and me torturing and murdering the woman who tormented my youth. Easy or hard way, we’ll get the information.”

Essen’s eyes flare with disdain. “Yeah, I get it. You're just crazy!”

Jerome’s smile falls and he cocks his head, advancing on her. “Crazy?” he asks. He kneels down so he's eye-level. “Look at me,” he orders, voice low and dangerous. Just the way you like it. “You can see I'm not crazy.”

“I am,” you shrug.

Jerome grins. “Batshit,” he agrees. 

Essen meets his gaze, hands clenched into fists. “Very soon, little man,” she growls, leaning toward him. “You  _ will _ be dead. Both of you. And the world will go on without you. You'll be nothing. No one will even remember your names.”

Jerome makes a noise of disagreement. “Nooo,” he says. “That is where you're wrong, old lady.” He stands and turns toward you, yanking you against his side. “We will leave a  _ mark  _ on this city. We will spread across it like a virus.” 

You can't help but moan and pull him into a harsh kiss. He grunts and kisses you back, tongue visibly slipping into your mouth before he withdraws. Pinching you ass, he steps toward Essen again, lips curled into a pleased smile. She recoils as he leans in close. 

“And do you know why?” he asks.  

“There's nothing more contagious than laughter!” Greenwood cackles.

Jerome's eyes slide to yours. You nod. He draws his gun and, without flinching, he shoots Greenwood in the chest. The burly man drops the camera as he crashes to the floor. Dead. 

“My line!” Jerome grins. He steps in front of the Commissioner as you scoop up the camera. “There's nothing more contagious than laughter!”

He's cut off mid-laugh when the Commissioner spits in his face. Jerome coughs for a moment as the spit goes right into his mouth. He contemplates what just happened. 

“Huh, that was strangely pleasant,” he concludes. Over his shoulder to you he adds, “You're gonna have to try that later.”

When he turns back to Essen, she headbutts him. Jerome's head flies back by the force of it.

“That's gonna leave a mark!” Essen smirks, pleased with herself.

Jerome's laughing wildly now, blood pouring out of his nose. Livid, you take an angry step toward the woman. But Jerome puts his hand out to stop you. 

“You got me!” he admits, spitting blood. 

Essen’s smug face falls when she realizes what's going to happen next. You watch, entranced as Jerome towers over her, long fingers curling into fists. His chest is heaving and everything about him sends a stab of desire through you. If there was time you’d make him fuck you on Gordon's desk. 

“My turn,” Jerome snarls.

  
  



	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost have all the remaining chapters drafted, and I’ve got to say, this has been a fucking intense story. I didn’t think I could write something like this but I’m super proud of myself for doing it. Honestly, this chapter made me go super dark and, yeah. You've been warned.

 

Eventually, the Commissioner spills everything. After the show she put on with her hard exterior and spitting at Jerome, it only takes few minutes of Jerome beating her for her to break. In the end, you don't have to lift a finger. Camera in hand, you watch as Jerome makes her scream, growing wet with every drop of blood.

“Across from Wayne Enterprise,” Essen gasps through the pain, eye swollen shut and lip split open. “There's an apartment building we use to house witnesses. She's on the third floor.”

Excited, you place the camera on the desk and come to stand by Jerome. “Security?” you demand. 

“A few armed guards,” Essen sobs, tears of shame streaming down her face, mixing with blood. “It's all we could spare.”

This is better than you could have imagined. You had been sure Essen was tougher, would be harder to crack. It seems she was just as weak as all the rest

“Please—” Essen begs, but never gets to finish her sentence. 

Jerome shoots her in the head. You barely register the blood splattering across your pristine blouse, too preoccupied with Jerome swooping in for a kiss. 

“Happy, doll face?” he asks.

You grab his hand, wiping the blood off on your skirt before you slid it underneath, forcing him to feel the wetness between your legs. “Never better,” you growl. 

Jerome grunts, two fingers spreading you open, before reluctantly withdrawing his hand. “Get the camera,” he orders, lewdly sucking the digits clean.

You raise your eyebrow defiantly and he adds, “Please.” with a sarcastic smile.

Satisfied, you pick up the camera and aim it at Jerome. “Ready when you are, puddin’,” you say.

Jerome grins. “Hellllooooo, Gotham City!” he exclaims. “We're the Maniax and I'm Jerome, the shot caller of our little gang.”

Before you can comment however, he glances past the camera at you and adds, “Well one of them anyways. Say hello, Queenie.”

He grabs the camera and maneuvers it around so you're now in the shot with him.

“Hello there, lovelies,” you smile. Jerome presses his cheek to yours, smearing his blood onto your skin. “And an extra  _ special  _ greeting to Detective Gordon and Dr. Thompkins. Guys, couples dinner, you and us. Call me.”

Jerome laughs. “We're here to spread the message of wisdom and hope.” His smile fades as Greenwood groans, not quite as dead as you initially thought. 

Jerome withdraws his pistol and shoots Greenwood again, silencing him for good. You draw back, refocusing the camera on your lover. 

“Some people have no manners,” he tuts. That dark look comes across his face and he leans in close to the camera. “You're all prisoners. What you call sanity, it's just a prison in your minds that stops you from seeing that you're just tiny little cogs in a  _ giant  _ absurd machine.”

He's magical. You find yourself hanging on every word he's saying, entranced. 

“ _ Wake up!”  _ he snarls. “Why be a cog? Be free! Like us!”

He takes the camera and tugs you into frame again, eyes flaring with hunger and passion. “Just remember...smile!”

The kiss is dirty and lewd, and you follow through, moaning loudly as his tongue assaults your mouth. His tongue tastes like blood and your slick, your favorite combination of flavors. In the distance are sirens and both of you withdraw with noises of disappointment. 

“Time to go,” you urge.

Jerome nods in agreement, turning back to the camera. “Don't worry, we'll be back very soon!” He slips the hat of his uniform on, smashing his lips against your cheek in a loud, smacking kiss. “Hang on to your hats folks, ‘cause you ain't seen nothing  _ yet!” _

Jerome's laughter is contagious and you find yourself joining in, even as you stop recording. You pop out the tape and Jerome whistles as he scoops a sharpie off the desk, scribbling Gordon’s name across the label. 

“Let's go home,” you say. “We can't bring liberation to the masses if we get caught.”

“I concur,” Jerome states, dropping the tape on Essen’s lap. “Aaron, come help Queenie down!”

There's little time to talk after that. Between giving orders to the goons you hired and escaping the GCPD, there's too much going on. The outside is beginning to swarm with police and you barely manage to make it to the limo before the SWAT team arrives. 

You expect Jerome to be all over you once free of danger, but he's not. The vehicle drives off and he throws his hat off, kicking up his heels on the wet bar and folding his hands behind his head. After a few minutes of silence, he glances your way.

“We're dropping Aaron off, I'm changing clothes, and then we have another little trip we have to take today,” he announces.

This is the first you're hearing about these plans. “What trip?” you ask. 

“A special one,” Jerome answers. “One for just you and me.” He suddenly hops onto your lap. “We've been serious for a while now,” he comments.

“A couple of weeks actually,” you say, using the sleeve of your jacket to wipe away some of the dried blood from his nose. “It'll be a month since we left Arkham.”

“Well, I think it's time to introduce you to my father,” Jerome grins, batting your hand away. “The poor blind idiot rented an apartment in town when I was put away. We're going to see him.”

Giggling, you slide your hand up his back, wishing you could feel his warm skin and not fabric. “And just what are we going to do while we're there?” you ask.

Jerome's lips curl into a smile. He leans in close. “Shh, it's a surprise,” he says in a stage whisper. 

\---

The apartment his father rents is a dump, although, most places in Gotham are. His father isn't home, so Jerome makes himself comfortable in a chair to wait. Next to him on the floor, his bag sits open showing rope, knives, and various other fun items. 

Jerome takes the rope out and begins to play with it while you wander for a bit, checking things out. It doesn't seem like it's a trap or setup, for which you are grateful. 

“Queenie, come here,” Jerome demands.

You raise your eyebrow at his tone, but slink over to his side. “Yes?”

Jerome wraps the end of the rope around his hand, before patting his lap. “Sit with me.”

You oblige, straddling his legs. His hands seize your wrists and he yanks them behind you as he draws you in closer. “Once we take care of my dad and your stepmom, it'll be a message to everyone,” he determines. 

The harsh brush of the rope winding around your wrists makes you suck in an excited breath. “Oh, will it?” you purr. “And what will the message say?” 

“That the GCPD can't stop us,” he growls, letting your hands go. They're loosely bound, but damn do you wish they were tighter. “That no matter how hard they try to meddle and separate us, we'll always find a way.” He grabs your neck, drawing you in so that your lips brush. “You and me, doll face. Together forever.”

The kiss is interrupted by the sound of the key in the lock. You hop off Jerome's lap and shake your hands free, fingers curling around the rope to keep it from falling onto the floor. Jerome stands, eyes narrowed and grin wide. He glances at you and winks, that familiar flutter of excitement making you grin back. 

When the old man walks in, you stand perfectly still, studying him curiously. This man is such a focus of hate for Jerome, you can’t help wondering why. He looks completely unassuming and you suspect Jerome would have taken him out sooner if he hadn't been caught. His father doesn't make any indication that he's aware of your presence, until he walks by you. Only then does he pause. 

“Who's there?” he asks, voice raspy. 

Neither of you say a word. You cast Jerome a questioningly look and he jerks his head toward his victim, giving you the go ahead. 

“I know you're there!” his father says.

Before he can say another word, you wrap the rope around his neck, cutting off his air and keeping him in place. He gasps in surprise, his cane falling to floor as he reaches up to grab for the rope.

“Hiya, pops,” Jerome greets, drawing closer. “Long time, no  _ see.”  _ He laughs at his own joke and you chuckle with him.

The two of you maneuver his dad into a wooden chair, securing him tight enough to keep him there, but not so tight to leave bruises or marks. Jerome's smile never once falters. In fact, it only grows as he drags another kitchen chair closer, purposely letting it scrape across the floor. 

Jerome collapses into it when he's finished and you move to stand by his side. “So…” he says casually. “How y’doing?”

Silence is his answer, though that's entirely because Jerome gagged the old man with a scarf. 

“Ah, silent treatment,” Jerome continues. “Let me tell you a story.” He lounges back in his seat, making himself comfortable. 

“You remember Kansas City, Dad. The circus went through town every spring, around my birthday.” His voice is low and gravely, a register you've barely heard him use, though you find attractive. “There was this guy. Him and my mom use to drink and fornicate and beat the crap out of me. They would make a whole night out of it.”

Anger makes your stomach churn and you find yourself balling your hands into fists to keep from punching something. The thought of people hurting Jerome will always flip a switch, no matter how much you try to contain it. 

Jerome doesn't take his eyes off his father, but does reach up to lay a comforting hand on your lower back. 

“There was this one time,” he goes on, slowly getting to his feet. “It was my ninth birthday. And  _ him  _ and my mom had just finished round one of boozing, boning, and beating up Jerome.”

His hand slips from your back as he creeps towards his father. As he does, you take the opportunity to pick up his bag and lay out its contents on the nearby table.

“Anyways, I was outside the trailer, and  _ you  _ were there. Annnnd you said, ‘Why are you crying, Jerome?’...” He grabs one of your knives from the pile of toys and examines it closely. “‘It's my birthday, and my mom and the snake guy are beating me!’ and then you said, ‘This world doesn't care about you or anyone else, Jerome. Better to realize that now.’”

He drops the knife and turns to smile at his dad. “And that was it.” He suddenly charges at the man, towering over him as he gets close to his face. “But you were  _ wrong!  _ There is someone in this world who cares about me, and I want you to meet her.”

He straightens his stance and extends his hand to you. When you slip yours into his, he pulls you to his side. 

“Dad, this is my partner, Queenie,” Jerome says, nuzzling your neck. “See,  _ she _ believes in me!  _ She _ thinks I'm gonna be a star! She has shown me so many beautiful things. We love each other more than you could ever comprehend and we've done so many amazing things together.”

“And to each other,” you add. “Your son is the most beautiful person I've ever met.” Your tone darkens as you step toward your hostage. “What you let his mother do to him makes my blood boil. See no one hurts my puddin’!” You reach down to pinch his ass. “Except for me sometimes, and only because it gets him off.” 

Jerome's dad tries to speak, but the scarf muffles his response. Jerome rolls his eyes and yanks the fabric out of his mouth. 

“You don't love each other!” his dad snaps viciously. “I have heard all about what you two have been doing. All the people you’ve killed. Neither of you are capable of love.”

Jerome wraps his hand around his dad's throat, angrily bringing his face closer. “We  _ are  _ in love! No one loves her as much as I do.  _ She's mine! _ She's all I can think about, and she's all I've ever wanted. I have killed for her and she's killed for me. If anything ever happened to her I would rain hell down on those responsible and rip them in half!”

“That's not love, that’s obsession!” his dad insists. 

“Same thing,” you declare. “However you look at it, we belong to each other.” 

Unable to stop yourself, you cup Jerome’s face and kiss him deeply, tongue seeking his. Jerome groans and wraps his arms around you, kissing back just as enthusiastically. But before you can get caught up in the taste of him, he withdraws. 

“Focus, Queenie,” Jerome teases. 

“Oh I am focused,” you grin, rubbing his cock through his fine tailored pants.

“Spare me the sounds of your mating,” Jerome's dad begs. “I’d rather die than listen to  _ that _ .”

“Now, that's no way to handle your son bringing a girl home for the first time!” Jerome scolds. “Honestly, Dad, you're being rude.”

Jerome slinks to stand behind the man, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look in your direction. “Wish you could see her,” he says. “She's gorgeous. A vision,” He giggles excitedly. “And I get to fuck her without a condom, so the sex is like, ten times hotter!”

His father turns a sickly gray color. “No...no! You two aren't bringing children into this world!” he exclaims, horrified.

There's a beat where you and Jerome look at each other and then burst into hysterical laughter.

“God no!” you exclaim.

“Dad, I never knew you were such a comedian,” Jerome says. “Now I see where I get my sense of humor from. No, we won't be procreating, you can go to your grave with some glimmer of happiness. The Valeska and Cicero lines end with me. Parents. Always pushing their kids to have kids. What’s that about?”

“Beats the hell of out me,” you say. “We've got to speed things up. Being wanted criminals and all.”

“Right,” Jerome agrees, letting Cicero go to walk around him. “She's always so good at keeping me on track with things like this. Anyway, Dad. We’re here because we need your help.”

“I'll never help you!” the old man declares. 

“Yeeeeeah you will,” Jerome counters. “‘cause you have no choice. Queenie needs a scapegoat and what she wants, she gets.”

“See, Papa Cicero,” you say. “I broke us out of Arkham, because  _ I'm awesome _ . Unfortunately, Detective Gordon is poking around, and I can’t take care of us if he finds my secret funds, so we need someone to pin the breakout on.”

Jerome turns to a pile of papers that you had placed next to the knives, and spreads them out on the table. “That's where you come in,” he says. “Let's see, blue prints, letters to your son with secret Braille messages planning our escape, plans for Queenie's smoke grenades…” 

“They'll never believe I helped you!” Cicero insists. 

“You did it before,” you shrug. “And they're desperate. They'll believe anything.”

“Jerome…” Cicero pleads.

Jerome drops the bag, rounding on him. “Oh is this the part where you say how sorry you are?” he lashes out. “How you should have believed in me, how it's not too late to start again? Newsflash, Dad, it's too late!”

“You don't have to do this!” Cicero says.

“Well...yeah I do,” Jerome shrugs. “Like I said, what Queenie wants, she gets.”

He grabs the knife off the table, flipping it in the air and catching it by the handle.

“Shame, you're gonna miss my big night,” he continues. “I have a performance coming up. A real  _ showstopper!”  _ He grins. “You're psychic, tell me…do I kill?”

“ _ You  _ will be a curse upon Gotham! Children will wake from sleep screaming at the thought of you! Your legacy will be death and madness!” Cicero vows.

Jerome looks pleased with the news. 

Cicero suddenly turns his blank gaze in your direction. “And  _ you!”  _ he growls. “You've let a monster loose on this city and you  _ will  _ suffer for it. Whether by his hand or his actions, he  _ will  _ be the death of you!”

You consider his words and slide your arm around Jerome's shoulders. “I wouldn't have it any other way,” you grin.

Jerome places the scarf back in his father's mouth as the old man starts to protest. “Bye Dad,” he says. “Say hi to Mom for me.”

The blade slices Cicero’s wrists with barely any pressure. You watch the blood flow as Jerome whistles, wiping his prints from the handle before placing it on the floor to make it look like it was dropped. 

“Now, we wait until he dies, and then we untie him,” Jerome explains. “And it'll look like poor old Dad couldn't live with himself. Boo hoo.”

Cicero is too frail to struggle. He twitches and jerks, but it only makes the blood pour faster. Jerome grabs you, forcing you to look at his dying father.

“You've never seen the life drain from someone's eyes,” Jerome recalls, lips tickling your ear “Let's watch together.”

It turns out to be difficult to do. Cicero’s eyes are too milky to really show much of anything and he's dying so fucking slowly. You huff with annoyance. “I don't think that'll work in this instance,” you say.

Jerome mimics your huff. “So it would seem,” he says. “That's alright. One day you'll look a man in the eyes when he dies.”

As the blood drips down his father's wrists, Jerome spins you around. His mouth is hot and persistent, biting and tasting your lips urgently while steering you toward the lumpy sofa off to the side. Without a word he sits and pulls you down with him, shoving your skirt out of the way in the process.

Excited by the ferocity of him, you bunch your skirt up around your middle, leaving you naked from the waist down. Jerome pulls you fully onto his lap, forcing you to straddle him. His hands are quick to undo his belt and the sound sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine. 

Fuck he's so hard. His hips surge upward, forcing himself in, impaling you with his cock. It hurts; you're not nearly warmed up enough, but that doesn't stop you from rising and falling on his lap. You're slick within mere seconds, turned on by the animalistic way he's claiming your body. 

His fingers dig into your thighs as he grips you tight, setting a fast and brutal rhythm. You gasp with delight, hands falling onto the back of the couch. Shocks of electricity course through your veins, the angle of your coupling being absolutely perfect. Between his cock hitting the spot that makes you sees stars, and your clit grinding against the fabric of his pants, you’re in heaven. He's practically snarling as you bend your head for more kisses. 

Fingers are shoved into your mouth instead and you suck on the digits, while Jerome stares up at you with mischievous eyes. After a few seconds, he yanks his hand away and then you feel his soaked fingers circling your pucker. A brief wag of his eyebrows is all the warning you receive before he pushes a finger past the tight ring of muscle. 

Immediately your body seizes against the intrusion, clamping down. Jerome pauses with a delighted laugh. It's been a long time since anyone dared to touch you there, mostly because your thoughts on the matter usually scare them off. 

Not Jerome it seems.

“This mean I get to fuck you too?” you gasp, grinding against his lap. 

Jerome’s smile is wide and his hips thrust up. “You'll get yours when I get mine,” he reminds you. 

“Good thing there's lube in my pocket, huh?”

Jerome stills, seizing your hip with his free hand to stop your movements. You whine at the loss of friction. “Don't tease me, Queenie,” he orders in a sharp voice. “Not today.”

Smirking, you pull the small bottle out of your coat. You had taken to carrying it around just in case, considering you can never tell when Jerome is going to want sex. Jerome's panting becomes heavier and he reaches up to take it from you. His finger slips out, making you wince with discomfort. For once, he seems at a loss for words. 

A thought strikes and you regard him curiously. “Jerome, who was before me?” you ask.

His eyebrows knit together with confusion as he tears his gaze from the bottle. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re so enthusiastic about anal,” you clarify. “You've done it before, right?”

Jerome drops the bottle and grabs your ass, thrusting upward so suddenly you have to grab the back of the chair to steady yourself. “Never had the pleasure,” he says. 

“Then let me teach you how it's done,” you purr, picking up the forgotten bottle.

Jerome watches transfixed as you pop open the cap and coat your fingers in lubricant. Slowly you start to grind against his lap again, his cock still filling you so deliciously. It's a wonderful distraction from what's to come. Reaching back, you slide two lube coated digits between your cheeks. 

Jerome's curious hand finds yours and you guide him forward, spreading the lube in small circles around your hole. Closing your eyes, you relax into the touch. Jerome's face is close enough for his breath to ghost across your lips. The feeling sends a stab of desire through your heart and you smash your mouth against his.

This time when he presses his finger in, it’s smoother than before. You resist the urge to clench and instead focus on riding his cock, taking control so he can enjoy fingering you. Like everything else he does, his movements are rough and quick. 

“Nice and easy,” you pant in between kisses. He listens, slowing down enough for you to relax further. “That’s it, puddin’.” 

Hand around his wrist, you direct his movements, feeling yourself loosen little by little. However, as much as you want to spend the day riding Jerome while he fingers your ass, time isn't on your side. 

Forcing yourself to remain relaxed, you slide your finger in next to his, stretching yourself even more, pausing every now and then to readjust to the sensation. Jerome's head falls back against the couch, watching your face through hooded eyes. The way he’s studying you could almost be described as calculating, as though he’s trying to figure something out. You? Your reasoning for letting him do this now? There’s no ulterior motive, other than he’s had a really fucking amazing day and you know this will make it perfect. He's also unusually quiet, whether because he's too distracted or lacking a joke for once, you're not sure. You smirk and wink, earning a large grin in return. 

When you arch up against his hand, Jerome's cock slips out of you, glistening as it hits his stomach. Studying it for a moment, you withdraw your finger and force Jerome to do the same.

He quirks an eyebrow questioningly, until you grab the lube bottle and coat three of his fingers. Then he understands.

Spurred on by his own excitement, Jerome slips an arm around your waist and crushes you to his chest, before reaching down once more. He eases two fingers in with little resistance and you can't help but moan as the burning sensation starts to subside. 

Jerome latches his mouth onto your neck, unable to restrain himself any longer. He thrusts his fingers in and out of you roughly again, his cock throbbing persistently between your rocking bodies. 

When a third finger wiggles in to join the other two, you shudder violently. Wave after wave of heat washes over your body and you find you're sweating profusely. You're also incredibly wet, nearly dripping as you leave trails of arousal along Jerome's cock with each roll of your hips. 

“More,” you gasp, cupping his face to kiss him. 

Jerome shoves his tongue into your mouth. His fingers give one more thrust before they're gone, and you're whining at the loss. 

The sinking disappointment doesn't last long. Jerome flips you onto your stomach, leaving you half-hanging over the armrest of the couch, ass in the air. Your body is shaking from the stimulation, cunt throbbing with need. 

Jerome presses the blunt head of his cock to your stretched pucker, causing you glance back at him over your shoulder 

“More lube,” you order. 

Jerome is obviously annoyed at being stopped. Regardless, he feels around for the bottle and you face forward again, watching the slow rise and fall of his father’s chest. He's still barely alive. Won’t be long now.

You're attention is dragged back when cold lube is dripped between your spread cheeks. “Asshole!” you swear over your shoulder. 

Jerome laughs at the insult. “Damn right,” he teases and then pushes the head of his lubed cock into you. 

Despite the preparation, it still burns. Though, not enough to force you to stop. Jerome does pause for a moment, waiting for you to relax again. It's like millions of new nerve endings come alive and your folds ache for the same feeling. Jerome places a hand on your lower back and the touch makes you release the tension, letting him slide in further. 

“ _ Fuck!”  _ Jerome swears, overwhelmed. He stops moving again. “Queenie…” His groan is the most obscene sound you've ever heard. “You're so  _ tight _ .”

He withdraws and gives a shallow thrust, making you cry out, both from pleasure and pain. His cock is almost too much for you to handle, but the next thrust makes you see stars and you change your mind. 

It's perfect and he's perfect.

Jerome can't hold himself back anymore and starts to fuck you steadily, burying himself further with each thrust, until his lap slaps the backs of your thighs. The armrest is digging into your chest and you cling to it like it's the only thing tethering you to this world. 

You drag your eyes open in time to see Cicero's chest stop moving. His hands twitch slightly, and then he's still. Jerome must notice as well, because he laughs breathlessly, fucking you harder. 

He drapes himself over your back, panting in your ear. “I'm going to come inside you,” he grunts. “Would you like that, Queenie? Me coming in your ass?”

Your response is muffled as you bend your head, too overwhelmed and blissed out to hold it up. Jerome tugs your hair, pulling your head back with a snarl.

“ _ Say it louder _ ,” he demands. 

“Yes,  _ yes, Jerome _ ,” you moan. “I want you to come inside my ass!”

Jerome giggles gleefully, pushing himself up and grabbing your wrists. He yanks your arms behind your back, locking you in place. With one hand holding you tight, he slips his other and in between your legs. You gasp at how unbelievably wet you are.

Jerome swears and moans louder than you've ever heard. With each thrust he buries himself to the base, as you writhe underneath against the sofa. You try your best to keep up, though there's barely any room to move. So you stop trying, body convulsing with exhaustion.

The lube is drying and Jerome is too far gone to reapply, but the burn only fuels your arousal and your orgasm sneaks up on you unexpectedly. There’s no buildup, no warning. Just a Jerome rubbing your nub hard and a sudden explosion of ecstasy, forcing you to clench around his cock.

“Shit, doll face!” Jerome exclaims. “ _ So, so good!  _ I'm coming!”

His body seizes, his hips thrusting forward one more time, pulling your arms so hard your joints protest. You feel the rush of warmth as he comes, withdrawing at the last second to coat your aching lower back. 

Jerome slumps against the back of the couch, finally letting your wrists go. You collapse fully on the armrest, body wracked with shakes as you try to catch your breath. Sore doesn't even begin to cover it. You're in actual pain, and it takes you a full minute to even try to sit up. 

Jerome wraps his arms around you from behind, lips brushing your ear. “You always make the waits worth it,” he giggles. 

You smirk, lightly elbowing him to put some space between you. Too much. Too close. 

“I know,” you say. “Come on, we should go. My ass hurts and this lube is getting tacky.”

Jerome laughs and smooths your skirt down, forcing the fabric to stick to the remains of his orgasm. After, he gently pats your bottom, earning a harder elbow to the ribs, which only makes him laugh more. 

  
  



	17. Chapter 17

 

Jerome is different after the GCPD attack and killing his father. 

It's like a switch has been flipped. Now that he’s in the spotlight, now that everyone in Gotham knows his face, his confidence skyrockets. 

You allow him to take the lead, smitten by this new, commanding man who knows exactly what he wants. It's arousing. To hear that demanding voice spitting orders to Aaron and the servants. To watch that glint in his eyes as he lays out his plans for the benefit dinner.

It takes all your self control not to jump him every time he opens his mouth. He, however, lacks any and all self control. 

Which is how you find yourself flat on your stomach, face-first in the mattress, Jerome fucking you like his life depends on it. The door was still open. He hadn't even bothered to close it before he was all over you. On the end table, the red light flashes on the camera as it records your every movement. 

“What has gotten into you?” you groan, gripping the edge of the bed.

Jerome laughs, fingers digging into your hips. “You, Queenie. This is all your fault,” he grunts. “You encouraged me the entire way. And now we've got this city terrified of us.”

He reaches around and presses hard on your sensitive nub, making you cry out at the over-stimulation. 

“Of you,” you pant. “It's all you, baby. They're running scared because of you. What you did to the Commissioner and your father were beautiful.”

His hand yanks your shirt down over your shoulder before he sinks his teeth into the bruised flesh. You come a second later, moaning so loud your voice cracks. Jerome finishes inside you, chest lined along your back as he pants in your ear. 

It's like you've merged into one person now. You have to be with each other. No matter how many times you fuck him, it's never enough for either of you. Pure need is the only way to describe it. You  _ need  _ each other to survive. 

Jerome slips out, his seed dripping onto the bedspread. “We have to move fast to beat the GCPD,” he says, giving your bottom loud smack. 

You wince, still sore from yesterday. “I told you, my ass is off limits,” you remind him, pushing yourself up with a wince. “And we go after my stepmother tonight.” 

“We sure she hasn't been moved?” Jerome asks, standing and pulling his pants up. 

“They lost too many cops,” you say, rolling onto your back to face him. “They don't have the manpower to do it. Plus, I've got people watching the place. If she moves, they know what to do.” 

Jerome grins, zipping his pants. “Perfect,” he purrs. “What do you need from me?”

“Pack our clothes,” you instruct. “Send the servants away. We need to make sure this place is cleared out within the hour.”

“Why?”

“It's a surprise.”

Jerome takes your ankles and spreads your legs, dark eyes taking in the sight of your used cunt. “I'll get started in a minute,” he says, kneeling on the bed.

However, when he tries to put his head between your legs, you dig your knees into his temples, stopping him.

“Now!” you order. “Time is our enemy and I've given you more than enough of my body today. And enough footage.”

Jerome pouts, drawing back. “Fine,” he grunts. “But only because I'm eager to kill your stepmom.”

He slides off the bed, turning off the camera, while you move to clean up. Once you're refreshed, you head to the weapons room to grab a few things. 

You're scarily calm, considering. Maybe it was the series of orgasms you've had over the last several hours, or because you have a way to handle Jim Gordon, but you find yourself level-headed and determined.  

Jerome enters the room some time later, pulling you out of your musings. “Car is ready,” he announces, sliding up next to you. “Ooo so many things to play with. What are you going to do first?” He gasps and pulls out a hatchet. “This one, this one!”

“You can't bust out the big guns right away,” you tell him, taking the hatchet and putting it back into the duffel bag. “Sometimes you need the foreplay. It's not always fun to go in dry.”

“Most of the time  _ you  _ don't need foreplay,” Jerome giggles, leaning in to nuzzle your neck. “You're always so  _ wet  _ when I take you.”

Grinning, you shove him away. “Not always, but I like a little pain,” you say, zipping the bag. “The arrangements all set?”

Jerome nods, grabbing the bag and slinging the strap over his shoulder. “I'm warning you,” he says. “Seeing you torture and kill the bitch is going to give me a massive hard-on.”

“If all goes according to plan, me too,” you smirk, walking toward the door. “Be prepared for a long night and not being able to walk tomorrow.”

Jerome halts his steps but you keep going, your smirk widening. 

“Come on, let me show you what I've been working on,” you say over your shoulder. “Shultz can wait.”

The penthouse has many rooms, and up until that point, you had kept this particular space for yourself. It originally was intended to be a ballroom, though lacked the gravitas. You had personally remodeled it into the perfect torture chamber. 

Too small for an actual ballroom, the circular layout throws you off when you enter, which was the first thing you liked about it. The large windows are covered with wooden boards painted black, blocking out any and all natural light. In the center of the room sits an examination table you had stolen, surrounded by mirrors and various sized television screens. 

Jerome practically squeals with excitement when you lead him through the door, stepping over wires as you approach the table.

“Queenie,” he gushes, sounding impressed. “You've been busy!”

“Of course I have!” you say, placing your bag of tools on a nearby tray, then rolling it into the circle. “What, you think I just sit around looking pretty and waiting for you to fuck me?”

Jerome laughs and hops up on the table. “What's your plan, doll face?” he asks.

“To scare that woman as much as she used to scare me when I was a child,” you say. “I want her crying and whimpering before I even start to use my special toys.”

“Once we snatch her, we'll be on a timer,” Jerome points out. 

“We know Detective Gordon is relentless,” you say. “So, I say we bring him here.”

Jerome's eyes light up and he leans forward. “Go on,” he grins.

Unbeknownst to Jerome, you had slowly bought the bottom floors under the penthouse, until you owned the whole  building. It was expensive, and you had to dip into one of your secret accounts to do it, but you're hoping it'll be worth the expense.

“All the floors below this one are, let's say, booby-trapped or swarming with our lovely hired help,” you explain. “It's the best death-trap money can buy. And if Gordon can get through those floors then he deserves to catch us, because that would be impressive.”

“How should we lure him here?” Jerome asks. “We can call him. Ooo, no! Make another video! You know how much I love taunting the police.”

“I have a better idea,” you say, turning from the chair. “Come on, I'll buy you a drink.”

Oswald’s isn't very full when you stroll in, flanked by Jerome and Aaron. You find this interesting, given the fact the place was usually pact when Fish owned it. 

Oswald himself is sitting at one of the tables and when he sees you, his face hardens. “Queenie,” he says stiffly, getting to his feet. “Wasn't expecting a visit, considering the circumstances.” 

He motions for his bodyguards to let you pass and you order Aaron to hang back, before smiling charmingly as you cross to Oswald. 

“Desperate times, Oswald,” you say, offering your cheek. He gives you the obligatory air kiss, and you feel Jerome tense behind you. “This is Jerome. Jerome, sweetie, Oswald Cobblepot.”

“ _ King  _ of Gotham,” Oswald adds. “Mr. Valeska, it's a pleasure to finally meet.”

Jerome steps up next to you and offers one of his wide smiles. “Likewise,” he says. “Any friend of Queenie is a friend of mine.”

“Are we friends, Queenie?” Oswald questions. “Because I had an interesting visit from Jim Gordon accusing me of conspiring with you. Now, why would he think that?”

“Okay, funny story,” you say. “I’d love to tell you all about it, if we could speak somewhere private, of course.”

Oswald regards you suspiciously, gaze lingering on Jerome. “Right this way,” he eventually says, motioning to a secluded booth in the corner. 

The three of you tuck yourselves in and a waiter comes over, placing a drink in front of Oswald. 

“Rum and coke for the pair of us,” you order.

Oswald holds his hand up to stop the waiter. “Don't bother,” he says. “They're not even old enough to drink.”

You pout and draw out a wad of cash. “I promised my puddin’ a drink,” you say. “ _ Come on,  _ Ozzy.”

Oswald's jaw clenches at the nickname. The money does the trick however, and he nods to the waiter, who takes the payment and slinks away. 

Knowing you're already on thin ice, you get right into it. “To be blunt, Oswald, I thought you betrayed me,” you explain. “Gordon and Thompkins were waiting for us. We were ambushed and my brain immediately went there.”

At this Oswald considers your words, nodding with acknowledgement. “That's understandable, I suppose,” he says. “But I didn't. And our confidentiality agreement was betrayed.”

“And for that I am truly sorry,” you say. “I have very few allies in Gotham and it was not my intention to sully our partnership.”

It's hard to tell if Oswald believes you. His eyes slide over to Jerome and the two study each other. Jerome with that ever present smirk that makes it difficult to tell his mood, Oswald with his passive poker face.

The waiter returns with your drinks, placing the glasses in front of you and Jerome. 

“Your words are nice, as always, Queenie,” Oswald says, folding his hands and placing them on the table. “Unfortunately, we're discussing your actions. So, where does this leave us?”

“I have an offer,” you say, taking a sip of your drink. 

Oswald looks unamused. “Not interested,” he says. 

He moves to stand but Jerome does as well, grabbing his upper arm to keep him from leaving. The room goes dead silent, except for a series of clicks as Oswald’s bodyguards cock their guns. 

“The least you can do is hear what she has to say,” Jerome smiles.

Oswald gives him a bored look and yanks his arm out of Jerome's grasp. “Give me one good reason why I should,” he orders. 

“Payback,” you answer. “Jim Gordon comes to you for help, doesn't he? He practically admitted so the last time we chatted. Seems I'm not the only one blabbing about our relationship.”

Oswald slowly sits back down, and Jerome follows, eyes trained on him. 

“On occasion,” Oswald admits, picking up his drink. “Only when he's exhausted all other leads.”

“Perfect,” you say excitedly. “Then chances are he's going to come to you asking where I am. Actually, I'm sure he has already. Given the fact no cops have shown up at my door, I take it you didn't tell him.”

“I had a mask on when your thugs picked me up. Remember?” Oswald says. 

“True,” you say. “But the more I thought about it, the more I noticed how comfortable you were. Which means, you had your men follow you just in case something happened. So, you know where I live.”

Oswald smiles. “I'd be stupid to go into  _ your  _ home without an exit strategy,” he says. “Alright then, Queenie, what should I tell Detective Gordon?” 

“The truth,” Jerome answers, sipping his drink and draping his arm around your shoulders.

Oswald raises his eyebrow. “You want me to tell him where your penthouse is?”

“Exactly,” you say excitedly.

Oswald looks between the two of you. “Why do you want him to know?” he asks.

His tone is guarded, as if he knows exactly why. It's not that much of a stretch. There's only one reason why you would want Gordon there. 

“I think you already have that answer,” you say. 

Oswald stares at you for a long time, barely blinking. It's to the point where you begin to worry. You don't know why he  _ wouldn't  _ give up Gordon, especially after agreeing about the man being trouble. Does Oswald have something over him? Did Gordon lie to you? Is he really in Oswald’s pocket? 

“So are you going to do it or what?” Jerome's sharp voice cuts through your thoughts.

After a moment, Oswald smiles and gives you a nod. “Alright, I can do that,” he says. “It'll make up for you both ratting me out to each other.”

“Excellent!” you exclaim. 

You raise your glass, offering it to toast. Oswald lifts his to do the same, withdrawing right before they clink. 

“ _ But _ …” Oswald adds, leaning forward. “You owe me a favor.”

“Nothing sexual,” Jerome interjects. 

Oswald rolls his eyes and makes a face. “She's not my type,” he says. “Besides, that's not how I handle favors.”

“Oswald gets all the favors he wants,” you say, placing your hand on Jerome's thigh to calm him. You tap your glass to Oswald's. 

Jerome relaxes a little under the touch, but you can still feel the tension coming off him in waves. He drains the rest of his drink, still obviously jealous. Which is hilarious considering this is  _ Oswald _ . You're pretty sure no woman is his type. Or at least, very few. You've never asked. 

The Penguin smiles wider. “Glad to hear it,” he says. “We have deal. Now please, leave my club.”

He is the last person you want to push your luck with, so you don't argue. You finish your drink and slam the cup down. 

“Thank you, Oswald,” you say. “I can always count on you.”

Jerome slides out of the booth, offering his hand. You take it and allow him to help you to his feet.

“This is the one time I'll forgive the slip up,” Oswald calls. “Next time, no favor will help you.”

“Don't worry, Ozzy. There won't be a next time,” you promise.

\---

Sitting in the limo across from Wayne Enterprise, you never in a million years thought you would be nervous. That feeling of calmness is completely gone now, and you feel twitchy. The apartment complex is the most unassuming thing you've ever seen. Which is probably why they picked it. 

During the drive you've changed into police uniforms, knowing it's the quickest way into the building. As long as you have your hat pulled down low, nobody will notice who you are.

You suppose the nerves come from what happened last time. But as far as you know Gordon is still at the precinct, trying to handle the lack of authority. 

The front door is easy enough to get through. You're buzzed in by the doorman, and as soon as you pass into the building, Jerome takes him out with a single bullet. 

Essen had said your stepmother is being kept on the third floor. Upon further investigation, there are no stairs in the lobby, so you're forced to use the elevator. The entire ride up you're fidgeting, and Jerome notices. 

“You ready for this, doll face?” he asks. 

Grinning despite the nerves, you wink. “You ready to take it from me later? Because once the bitch is dead I'm going to be all kinds of worked up,” you vow.

Jerome hooks an arm around your waist, drawing you in. “Counting on it,” he says, before he kisses you.

His lips and tongue keep you grounded,  you lose yourself in the taste and sensation. The nerves start to melt away, replaced by eagerness. You're so ready for this.  

The doors open, revealing a long hallway and you pull apart, slapping Jerome on the ass as he walks ahead. You follow the corridor all the way, only to find that it ends in a turn. Around the corner, two officers stand beside a door, looking bored. 

Jerome whistles to himself as he pulls one of your smaller smoke grenades out of his pocket. He yanks the pin and tosses the canister, which bounces and rolls across the floor. The radius on that particular grenade isn't very big, but it's just enough to hit the intended targets. 

Seconds later you hear two thuds and by the time you turn the corner, the men are down and the small amount of gas is already dissipating. You give it another minute before it's safe to get closer. 

Aaron moves to stand on one side of the door while you stand on the other, leaving Jerome to knock. 

The sound of someone undoing the locks makes your heart beat wildly, and you curl your fingers around the pistol on your hip, ready for a fight. The door finally opens, and another officer pokes his head out.

“Hi!” Jerome greets, then shoots him.

Jerome and Aaron kick the door open, and from inside the apartment you hear gunshots and screaming. 

Screaming you've heard before.

After a few seconds, Jerome calls, “All clear, gorgeous,”

Ditching the cop's hat, you casually slink into the room. Several bodies lay bleeding out on the floor, and you watch as Jerome shoots one that's still twitching. Turning towards the person sobbing, your heart soars.

She's there. She's actually there. Her eyes are wide with terror and she's cowering in a corner as Jerome and Aaron advance.

“Yeah, screaming isn't going to really get you anything,” Jerome giggles. 

Aaron is grinning and reaches out for the woman. 

“Boys!” you say sharply. “She's my toy, remember?”

Jerome and Aaron immediately stop advancing, stepping apart to let you pass between them. As soon as she sees your face, your stepmother screams again.

“Hi, Mom,” you purr, slowly stepping closer. “You didn't think I'd forget about you, did you?”

“Please, please just let me live!” she begs. “I'll do anything! You can have all of it! The house, the money, everything!”

“Great, except I don't give a shit about any of that,” you say, backing her into a corner. “See, that was one of your problems. You never knew me as well as you thought you did.”

“Then what do you want? Please just tell me!” she pleads. 

“Honestly, I want to see you suffer,” you shrug. 

She tries to run. It's her only choice and she takes it, barreling into you so hard you nearly fall backward. But Aaron seizes her as Jerome catches you. 

Aaron looks amused as she tries to fight him. He simply wraps his arms around her and crushes her to his chest. 

“I love it when they try to run,” Jerome grins.

“You know,  _ Mom,  _ when I was in Arkham they used to force us to go to therapy,” you say, moving to stand in front of her. From your pocket you draw out a syringe filled with clear liquid. “And there were so many things I discovered about our relationship that I want to share with you. We're going to take a little trip.”

“You'll have to kill me first!” your stepmom snarls. 

You tut and grab her chin, forcing her to look you in the eye. “Trust me, you're not getting off that easy.”

You stab the syringe in her neck, injecting her with a powerful knock drug, and watching as her eyes immediately droop. She goes limp in Aaron's arms.

Elated and eager to get back home, you toss the syringe to the side and snap your fingers at Aaron. He slings the woman over his shoulder and the three of you head for the exit. 

“By the way, Queenie, you never said how we're going to scare her,” Jerome comments, wrapping his arm around your waist. 

“There's only one thing she fears more than being broke,” you tell him. 

“And that is…?”

You grin. “Clowns.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song in this chapter is Time for Tea by Emilie Autumn. I really suggest listening to it. The only warning I have for this chapter is it’s...disturbing. By my standards at least. Also the certain item of clothing Queenie has Jerome put on just for her may or may not come from a certain scene from Shameless. Just sayin’.

 

You finally did it. After all the scheming, manipulating, and killing, your stepmother is strapped to that old examination table, unconscious. 

Jerome stands next to you, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest as you both gather yourselves. Aaron is somewhere behind you, waiting for instructions. 

There is no sign of the nerves from earlier, only excitement and adrenaline. 

“Aaron,” you order to the big muscular man. He steps up to stand on your other side. “Your services up here are no longer required. I need you to go wait on the floor below this one. If Gordon or anyone else tries to come for us, you are to stop them no matter what. I’ve disconnected the elevator so they have to take the stairs. There’s only one way in or out of this place and you’re our last line of defense. Got it?”

Aaron nods. “Yes,” he says. 

You smile and pat him on the shoulder. “See you on the other side of this, friend,” you say. “And don’t forget to wear your earpiece. I want to know if Gordon gets to you.” 

He nods with understanding and then walks away, leaving you and Jerome alone. 

“That sounded final,” Jerome comments.

“Yeah well, he’ll probably die or get arrested,” you admit. “And since he’s wearing his earpiece, I can just kill him if the latter happens.” 

“What do we do first?” Jerome asks, rubbing his hands together eagerly. 

“Set the stage of course,” you grin. “And get into costume. That drug isn’t going to wear off for another thirty minutes or so, and she’s going to be very disorientated when it does.” 

“This is your show, just tell me what you need,” Jerome says, following you to the door tucked away in the back. “I live to serve under you, Queenie. Well, sometimes.”

You laugh, opening the door. It’s an old servants corridor that leads to the kitchen, and will serve as an emergency escape route should the GCPD actually somehow get to this floor. Right inside are piles of clothes for you and Jerome to change into. 

You hand Jerome his and he looks through the items smirking. “After all this time, I still wind up dressing like a clown,” he comments. “Except for these…” He pulls out a pair of tight undershorts, raising his eyebrow at you questioningly.

“Those are a personal preference,” you smirk, leaning in close. “Just knowing you’re wearing them underneath will be a turn on. And honestly, your clothing is more like a ringmaster than a clown. I’ll be dressed as the clown. It’s literally her worst nightmare.”

Jerome wags his eyebrows and starts to strip so he can change. You watch for a second, before forcing yourself to do the same. 

The sleeveless black and white striped dress is short, so short that the ruffled bottom barely covers your lady bits, which you’ve masked with a pair of red silky underwear. Your knee-high socks are striped as well, making it look like you’re wearing your old Arkham uniform, only modified. Jerome watches as you step into a pair of stilettos, his eyes flashing hungrily. He’s naked except for those shorts, and you also pause to admire the view. 

“Do we have time for a quickie?” he asks, palming himself. His bulge is impressive, as always, but unfortunately there isn’t time to do anything about it. 

“No, we don’t,” you pout, straightening your stance and tugging your dress into place. “But don’t worry, once we’re done here I’ll bend you over and take good care of you.” 

Jerome laughs, stepping into the white pants you gave him and yanking them up. “You may have to keep that outfit on,” he says, wincing as he tucks himself into the restrictive pants. 

You grin back at him, pulling on your long, striped, finger-less gloves. “I can do that,” you promise. You tuck your phone into the pocket you sewed into the dress, and draw out your compact. 

As Jerome continues to dress, you smear white across your face and neck, making sure it’s coated completely before applying your black eye-liner. The finishing touch is ruby red lipstick, and after giving yourself a once over in the small mirror, you conclude you look damn good as you slip the makeup back into your pocket. You can’t wait to see your stepmother’s face when she wakes up. 

While Jerome finishes up, you step back into the ballroom. You turn on the smoke machine and dim the lights, except for the one directly over your stepmother. It works as a spotlight, like a beacon leading you to the one thing you’ve wanted most over the last two years. Your fingers flex, aching to pick up one of the many instruments you have laid out. But after all this time, you vow to go slow and make her know every single angry, vengeful thought that has been running through your head since you stopped fearing her, and started hating her.

You step into the circle around her table, bile rising in your throat as you gaze at her face, wrinkles barely visible due to plastic surgery. The idea of changing your face never appealed to you. Why go through all that trouble to hide wrinkles? 

Once you're on that train of thought, you think of all the times she mocked your appearance, and you clench your jaw. Hate doesn’t even begin to cover your feelings for this woman. She made you feel worthless for existing, and it’s only appropriate that you return the favor.  

Jerome silently appears next to you, dressed impeccably and looking dashing. Along with those wonderful pants, he’s dressed in backwards straitjacket, the buckles and straps loosely done. His black boots are so shiny you can see yourself in them, and the red jacket he’s pulling on adds a beautiful splash of color. Red looks good on him. Real good. 

“We need some music,” he comments. 

“We will later. But I have something better to listen to first.” 

You pull your cellphone out and press a button. The screens around your flicker to life and the video of you and Jerome comes on, volume full blast, the noises of your fucking echoing loudly throughout the large room. He is absolutely delighted, grin so wide you’re sure his cheeks must hurt. 

“Uh...boss?” Aaron’s voice comes over the earpiece. 

“What is it?” you ask, slipping your phone into your pocket.

“Some of the guys just told me your trip mines on the third floor aren’t flashing anymore, and Gordon just showed up outside,” Aaron says. 

Grumbling, you’re about to yell when Jerome speaks up. “I’ve got it,” he says into the earpiece. “Stay where you are, Aaron.” 

Jerome turns to you, pulling you in for a kiss, smearing your lipstick. “Don’t have too much fun without me,” he says as he withdraws, a bit of red on his mouth. “I’ll fix everything. You just stay here and play.” 

“Hurry back,” you urge, wiping the lipstick on his face away with your thumb. With your other hand you reach down to squeeze his ass, only to shudder when you feel the outline of those shorts.

Jerome kisses your nose and then he’s gone, off to handle things. You’re really glad you decided to take him with you. He's everything you’ve ever needed in a partner and you can’t imagine doing any of this without him. 

You turn your attention to the images on the screens, taking time to enjoy how you and Jerome look together. It’s actually beautiful, how insync the two of you are, how you’re both moving desperately to chase your own pleasure. It’s the most beautiful piece of cinematic art you’ve ever seen. And it’s making you unbelievably turned on. 

Your stepmother gives a groan of discomfort and starts to move. Attention instantly drawn to her, you slowly step backward out of the light, watching as she comes to consciousness. She’s confused at first, you can see it all over her face as the cloudiness begins to clear from her vision. She tries to move, only to find that she’s strapped to the table and can’t even shift. Of course, she struggles harder, whimpering with fear as she tries to free herself. Suddenly, a loud moan from the TV draws her attention, and when her eyes finally find the screens, she looks repulsed. 

“Now you know how I felt,” you say loudly, making her jerk her head in your direction. “Having to listen to you and my father having loud sex for years can get really fucking annoying. It was actually the breaking point that night, did you know that? I just couldn’t stand listening to that headboard hitting the wall anymore.”

You’re shrouded by the darkness, so you know she can’t see your face. But your voice is unmistakable and she immediately reacts. 

“Why are you doing this? I never laid a hand on you!” your stepmother insists. 

Video You gives a loud moan as Video Jerome laughs wildly. _ “Take my dick, Queenie,” _ he growls. _ “God, you’re so good at it!” _

_ “Jerome! Oh, Mistah J, fuck me!” _

Your stepmother winces with disgust and instinctively recoils. At least she tries to. The table doesn’t let her. 

“You’re right, you never did,” you admit, stepping closer yet stopping just out of the radius of the spotlight. “That doesn’t mean you didn’t abuse me. See, as stupid as I found therapy in Arkham, some of the stuff Dr. Thompkins said actually resonated with me. Like, just because I was never hit, doesn’t mean I wasn’t abused. According to her, words can leave just as big a scar. And if I had a physical scar for every insult, every backhanded comment, every word of disgust…” You step into the light completely so she can see your face. “I’d be completely covered with them.” 

She screams. 

The sound is music to your ears and makes you grin. “Do you like my look?” you ask innocently, playing with the ruffles of your skirt. “Sort of a, circus meets escaped lunatic mashup.” 

You start to slowly circle the table, letting your fingers drag up her arm. “Speaking of circuses, do you remember, when I was eleven, and the circus was in town?” you ask. “Dad wanted to bring me, and you pitched the biggest fucking fit.”

The moans and grunts from the video add a deliciously dirty soundtrack to your words, and you take your eyes off your stepmother to stare at your sex tape with appreciation. You and Jerome gyrate against each other, nails and teeth finding purchase in already bruised flesh. 

“I didn’t care either way,” you say, looking back at her. “See, that’s when he had just started to visit my room at night, and I wanted nothing to do with him. But he was insistent on all of us going as a  _ family _ , and you cried.” 

You hop onto the examine table, straddling her waist. She screams again and struggles, shutting her eyes and turning her head away. 

“‘You’re so insensitive!’,” you whine, mocking her high-pitched voice. “‘You know how I feel about clowns and you want to drag me to that place, just so you can spoil your little brat!’”

You lean over her, and she whimpers, eyes still shut. “‘Look at her! She doesn’t even want to go! She’s so ungrateful! I don’t even know why you bother! You should send her away!’” You sit back with a wistful sigh. “And I remember thinking, ‘God yes, please send me away so I don’t have to listen to this cunt anymore.’ But unfortunately, that didn’t happen. Daddy had to keep me close after all. And so, he got his way, which he always did, and we went to the circus.” 

You jump off the table and move to stand where her head is. In the background, you and Jerome finish, both screaming loudly. He pulls out of you to pump his release all over your chest. 

“Aww, you’re missing the money shot,” you say. “Here, let me help with that!”

You grab her head and turn it towards one of the screens, using your fingers to pry her eyes open. 

“Mmm, yeah, look at him shoot his load. Fuck he's so violent when he comes!” you gush.

“No, please I don’t want to watch this!” she begs, trying to shake her head free of your grip. 

“But it’s hot!” you laugh. “He’s coming all over me and I’m just so spent. Look, some even got on my chin. Annnnd there I go, licking it away…” You groan with longing.

“Keep swooning over me, Queenie,” Jerome’s voice comes through the earpiece. “Definitely a nice ego boost!”

“He’s here you know,” you tell your captive. “Jerome needed to take care of a few things, but he’ll be back to meet you properly. It’s kind of a new tradition we have: introduce the other to our parents and then murder them.” 

“I understand you hating me, but I never made you watch something like this!” your stepmother says. 

“No, but you made me listen to it, over and over again,” you snarl, forcing her to look up at you. You lean down and press a smacking kiss to her forehead, leaving behind a red lipstick print. After, you shove her head to the side and move back around the table. 

“Now where was I...oh yeah, the circus!” You jump onto her lap again and she turns her head sharply to look at you. “So we go, and I’m pouting because I’m bored. Clowns never did anything for me. Well, not until recently. Anyways, we’re there, Dad is being overly touchy and friendly, winning me things and buying me stuff, and you’re walking all stiff and scared because every time you turn around.” You lunge forward so you’re face is right in front of hers, the clown makeup beginning to run as you sweat. “...there’s a clown.”

She flinches, whimpering again, turning her head in an attempt to get away from you. 

“And that’s when I realized you weren’t so scary anymore,” you say, stroking her cheek. “You have fears just like everyone else. A fact I remembered when I was planning on what to do with you once I caught you. I have to say, I never thought you’d work with the GCPD. You must be really scared of me.” 

“Please, please just let me go,” your stepmother pleads. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I said all those things about you. It was wrong, I know it was! I’ve been kicking myself ever since you killed him.” 

“Oh, no you haven’t!” you snort. “You’re so full of shit. You’re not kicking yourself for saying them, you’re kicking yourself because I  _ know  _ you said them. And probably for not noticing how bat-shit crazy I am. It’s not your fault. I hide it well. Manipulating people is kind of second nature. Then again,” You lean in close with a wide grin. “I learned from the best.” 

“I had my reasons!” your stepmother insists. “Yes, I tried hard to take all his attention! But I did it to protect you! I knew what he was thinking of doing, and that’s why I wanted you out of the way! I tried to save you!”

You laugh so loud it drowns out the sounds from the video tape. “Did you really think I would believe that?” you question, shaking your head and wiping the tears away. The action smudges your makeup even more. “You were saying that shit long before he started visiting me at night. Hell, I  _ heard  _ you telling your little friends how much of a nuisance I was. How you wished he didn’t have a daughter so you could inherit all our money.” At her horrified expression, you reach down to casually adjust the collar of her blouse. “I pretty much eavesdropped on you all the time. At first, it was because I was curious. Then it was because I wanted more information on you for blackmail purposes. You didn’t care about me. You didn’t even care about him. You cared about money!”

You wrap your hand around her collar as you swipe one of the scalpels off the nearby cart. “ _ ADMIT IT!”  _ you bellow, lunging forward and pressing the tip of the blade under her chin. 

“Yes, yes, okay I admit it!” your stepmother says. “I just wanted money. Your dad disgusted me. If I wasn’t grossed out by him, I was bored. He was the worst! And you weren’t any better! So plain and quiet, always watching with those crazy eyes. And yet, he paid so much attention to you, way more than he did to me, and I could never understand it.”

Now that you have her going, it seems she can’t stop, blurting out everything she’s been bottling up over the years. 

“I never got why he wanted you to have everything! Why should you?! You didn’t  _ earn  _ it! You didn’t  _ work  _ for it! I did everything for that man! EVERYTHING! And for what? For him to leave his fortune to some snot-nosed little girl who looked like his dead wife?!” she shouts. 

“I WAS A CHILD!” you bellow, pulling the scalpel away, only to draw it across her collarbone. The skin splits and blood glistens in the spotlight as she cries out in pain. “I DIDN’T WANT ANY OF IT! THE ATTENTION, THE MONEY! NONE OF IT!” Realizing you’re losing control, you take a deep, shaky breath and rein it in. When you speak again, your voice is lower. “You blamed me for the actions of a full grown adult! You’re the one who should have been locked up!”

“You killed him, psycho! You deserved to be locked up!” she spits. 

You pretend to consider her words. “Normally, I would argue,” you conclude, voice calm and steady. Letting go of her collar, you reach down to jam your thumb into her cut. “But considering locking me up forced me to meet the love of my life, I’d agree this time.” 

“Aww, Queenie, you’re making me blush,” Jerome’s voice comes in clearer now as he steps into the circle. 

Squealing with delight, you toss the scalpel on the tray and climb off your stepmother. You bound toward Jerome, jumping up to throw your arms and legs around him. He spins you once before putting you down and smashing his mouth against yours in a bruising kiss. 

“Everything good?” you ask, reluctantly withdrawing. 

“Mmm, more than,” Jerome assures you. “Gordon and his partner are still stuck on the first floor.” 

“Excellent,” you purr. “Jerome, sweetie, I want you to meet someone.” You take his hand and lead him over to the table, where your stepmother is panting and crying, blood smeared along her collarbone. “This is my stepmother. We were just having the most wonderful chat.” 

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Jerome says with an exaggerated bow. “And from the bottom of my heart, thank you for being such a piece of shit and bringing Queenie into my life.” 

“You’re both insane!” your stepmother says. “Detective Gordon will stop you!”

You and Jerome laugh, closing in on her. “Not today,” you say. 

“Mmm, Queenie, this video is dirty,” Jerome giggles, looking at the screen. It smash cuts to him sitting on an armchair, with you kneeling between his legs, gagging on his cock. “We really should have gone with another angle though.” 

“Maybe,” you say. “We’ll make a better one later. Right now I have some work to do, and I’d really like some music instead.” You take your phone out of your pocket, shuffling through your playlist until you find the perfect song.  

Another press of the button shuts off the lights completely, plunging the three of you into darkness. The music amps up, blaring loudly, and you press one final button, turning on strobe lights. 

“No! No, please! HELP! SOMEONE HELP ME!” your stepmother screams, barely audible over the music as you and Jerome move around her. 

Your heart is drumming hard against your ribcage, the excitement and eagerness eating away at your self control. The beat of the music gets your energy up and you bounce slightly, preparing yourself for what’s to come. Next to you, Jerome is staring just as fiercely at your stepmother as you are, fingers twitching as he restrains himself from doing anything. This is your moment, just like he had his with his father. He’s not going to ruin it for you.

Unable to help it, you start to singing along. “There was a little girl, who had a little curl, right in the middle of her forehead, and when she was good, she was very, very good, but when she was bad, she was homicidal!” You straddle her again, extending your hand. 

“Hatchet…” you demand. 

“Check!” Jerome hands you the tool.

“Scalpel…”

“Check!”

“Rusty steel syringe…”

“Check!”

You lay the items on her chest except for the scalpel and Jerome takes the edge of the table, spinning it and laughing hysterically as your stepmother cries and screams. 

“It’s time for war! It’s time for blood!” you sing, ripping open the blouse with the blade, bearing her chest to you. She thrashes and struggles, to no avail. She’s trapped and she’s not leaving alive. “It’s time for TEA!”

You begin to carve deep gashes into her chest, moving slowly and methodically. 

“One day that little girl may find a filthy metal spike, and drive it right in the middle of your forehead. For she and her friends, this is very, very good,” you sing. “But for you the game is over – this is revolution!”

Grabbing her neck, you turn her face away from you and cut into her cheek, following the scars of her facelift, another stupid symbol of the rich and desperate lifestyle. She’s screaming constantly now, still shouting for the help that won’t be coming. Jerome is laughing, cheering you on as he lets go of the table and watches it continue to spin on its own. 

“Hatchet…Check! Scalpel…Check! Amputation saw…Check!” you bellow. “It’s time for war! It’s time for blood! It’s time for TEA!” 

The music keeps going, but you stop singing, focusing on drawing as many bloody lines in this woman as you can. The flickering lights don’t bother you in the slightest and you keep the grin on your face, noting how terrified her eyes are every time the light flashes.

Jerome picks up the singing for you. “We’ve got the tools, we’ve got the time, to punish a most worthy crime against humanity, somewhere it’s always time for tea. We’ve been trained by the very best, we think you just might be impressed, eradicate the enemy, somewhere it’s always time for…” He’s urging you to finish it, egging you on, supporting you in the very best way. “Revenge is a dish that is best served…NOW!”

The music is just as encouraging as Jerome. It sets the pace for your carving, the scalpel sticking to your blood soaked fingers. 

“I am that little girl, I have that little curl, right in the middle of my forehead,” you join back in. “And when I am good, I am very, very good, but when I am bad, I am fucking gorgeous!”

Your control is slipping. The more blood you see, the more it sends you in a frenzy, and you find your cuts less precise, more erratic and angry. 

In your ear, you hear Aaron growl and you know Gordon has reached the upper floors. Shit. How did he do that so fast? He must have brought a lot of backup. Fuck, you can’t take as long as you want. Jerome seems to hear the noise too because he spins the table one last time and hops on behind you. He places his hands on your hips and leans forward, lips brushing your ear. 

“Hatchet…Check! Scalpel…Check! Electroshock Machine…Check! It’s time for war! It’s time for blood! It’s time for TEA!” 

You toss the scalpel aside and grab the syringe, rage finally taking hold. You stab her over and over again, blood splattering across your black and white dress. 

“We’ve got the tools, we’ve got the time, to punish a most worthy crime against humanity, somewhere it’s always time for tea,” Jerome watches excitedly, fingers digging into your hips. You can feel the press of his erection in your lower back and it only spurs you on. “We’ve been trained by the very best, we think you just might be impressed, eradicate the enemy, eradicate the enemy…”

You’re possessed. You can’t stop stabbing her and even when her screams bubble down to nothing, you keep going while Jerome whispers in your ear, “Go, Queenie, go! There’s my girl... _ let her have it… _ ” 

She’s nearly dead, her body convulsing and leaking blood from every bit of exposed skin. The hatchet slips as you attempt to pick it up, clattering to the floor in the chaos, and you climb down after it, Jerome following your lead. 

The door to the ballroom suddenly bangs open and Gordon and Bullock stand there, bloody and panting, their guns drawn. 

Your eyes meet Gordon’s from across the room and you lift the hatchet. “Revenge is a dish that is best served…” You swing the blade end down, burying it in your stepmother’s neck. “NOW!”

“ _ NO!”  _ Gordon screams, firing. 

Jerome tackles you to the ground, narrowly avoiding the bullets and knocking over the tray of tools in the process. The shots hit a mirror instead, sending shards everywhere. 

A large piece hits you in the face, cutting diagonally from your left eyebrow to your lip. Blinking the blood out of your eye, you scramble to grab one of your smoke grenades as it rolls away. You yank out the pin and Jerome takes it from you, chucking it in the direction of Gordon and Bullock. 

“Jim, look out!” Bullock orders, yanking Gordon back just as the grenade hits the ground in front of them. 

It goes off and they're stunned, coughing and sputtering. Jerome pulls you to your feet, hand gripping yours tightly as he tugs you in the direction of your only means of escape. 

The detectives still manage to fire, and you feel a searing pain in your shoulder, the adrenaline making you too focused to even cry out. Jerome manages to get you through the door and slams it shut behind you. There’s no time to catch your breath, only a second to kick out of your heels. You both run as fast as possible through the penthouse, and you just manage to get to the front door as you hear Gordon and Bullock stumble out of the ballroom. 

Aaron’s unmoving body lays at the bottom of the stairs. Jerome jumps over it and holds his arms out to catch you as you do the same. Each floor you pass is a mess of blood and people fighting, the goons you hired doing their very best to stop the officers who were unfortunate enough to back up Gordon and Bullock. In the distance you hear the trip mines go off.

The garage never looked so good. You grab the keys from your pocket and toss them to Jerome, heading for the black sedan in the corner. He gets into the driver’s seat and you throw yourself into the passenger’s. 

“GO!” you bellow.

Jerome peels out of the space, and makes for the exit, only for two officers to appear, pointing their weapons. Jerome laughs and steps on the gas, flooring it. One man manages to jump out of the way, but the other makes a sickening noise as he slams into the front of the car, bouncing off the windshield. 

Jerome skids out onto the main road and keeps going. “Wooo!” he shouts, excitedly banging on the steering wheel. “Now THAT was a rush! Queenie, you’re the most terrifyingly beautiful thing I’ve ever seen!”

“I’m also bleeding,” you grunt, pressing your hand to your shoulder. “I think I was shot…”

Jerome turns toward you sharply. “Are you okay?” he demands. 

“It's nothing,” you assure him. “I’ll be fine.” 

“Just lay back and rest, doll face,” Jerome grins. “You did it. You finally did it.” 

A smile crosses your face, white paint smeared with sweat and your stepmother’s blood. Your body sags, endorphins and adrenaline running out. “Yeah, I did.” 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to issue a warning for this chapter. While everything Jerome and Queenie do is consensual, there is a moment where Queenie is a bit uncomfortable during. Not sure how to tag it, but I wanted to at least give people a heads up.

 

You and Jerome ditch the car a few blocks away, stealing another one instead. He chucks your bags into the backseat and you ease yourself into the front, still clutching your bleeding shoulder. 

You pull down the visor to look at yourself, wincing at the jagged cut that now adorns your face. The skin is split and curled around the edges, blood still dripping down your cheek to mix with your stepmother’s. 

Jerome parks the car a street away and you throw on a sweatshirt over your outfit, pulling the hood up to hide your blood splattered face. Jerome does the same and the two of you get out. Thankfully no one is around, given the fact that there are criminals on the loose they seem to have decided to stay off the streets. 

Your second apartment is much less extravagant than the penthouse was. It's also underground, with a winding path that leads from the basement to your place. The GCPD will be looking in every expensive building in Gotham. They won't think to look in a dirty hovel. 

Each carrying a bag, you lead Jerome down the dirt road around the poorly cared for building, past the back entrance and to a rusted door. The basement sign is hanging by a broken nail, and falls when you pull the door open.

The two of you hurry inside, and after dodging around the dusty forgotten belongings, you come to your new apartment hideout. 

It's nicer inside than out, but there are no windows so it's pitch black at first. You don't turn on the hall light until you're sure the door is locked and secured. It's dead silent. There are no servants, no goons. Just you and Jerome.

Jerome tosses his hood back and seizes  your hips. “Come here,” he growls. 

You grab the front of his shirt and pull him against you, melting as his lips cover yours. Kissing heatedly, your back slams against the front door and he tugs on the zipper of your hoodie, yanking it down. Your lips sting from the cut, and as he throws his weight against you, your shoulder hits the door. 

“Fuck, that hurts,” you snap with annoyance. “Stop for a second. I need to take care of this.” 

Jerome huffs, drawing back. It seems then he finally takes notice of your face and grabs your chin, forcing you to look toward the light. “I’ll kill Gordon for hurting you,” he promises, examining the cut.

“We’re going to kill Gordon anyways,” you say, jerking your head out of his grasp so you can look at your shoulder. 

The bullet went clean through, though it looks like it missed anything important. Sucking your teeth with annoyance, you yank your glove off and hold it to the wound, putting pressure on it. 

After being in a place with servants and the Maniax, the silence of the small apartment is unnerving. Jerome seems to have the same problem, eyes darting around to make sure nothing is hiding or coming at you. There really isn’t a reason to be worried. No one besides the two of you know where this place is. 

You move down the hall and into the living room, getting rid of your clothes as you do. By the time you get to the kitchen, you’re down to just your underwear as you scour the cabinets looking for something to clean the bullet hole in your shoulder. There’s a small first aid kit under the sink and you set about stopping the bleeding and cleaning the area.  

A few minutes later Jerome enters. He too has abandoned his clothes, except for the tiny shorts you made him put on. 

And damn, they frame his package nicely. 

“Everything is clear,” he announces, coming up behind you. He wraps his arms around your waist and kisses your neck. “You did so good. I’m proud of you.” 

“Here, take this,” you order, handing him a threaded needle. “I need you to stitch me up.”

Jerome does as you command, threading the needle with practiced ease before getting to work sewing your wound closed. While he works on your shoulder, you start to clean the cut on your face. 

“I feel so light,” you say. “Like this giant weight has been lifted off my shoulders.” 

Jerome grins. “I know the feeling,” he says. “Nothing else compares. Except for maybe sex with you. And even then, killing is still more fun.”

You chuckle, barely flinching as the needle continues to pierce your skin. Silence falls between you and Jerome as he finishes sewing you up. Once he bites the thread, he tosses the needle into the first aid kit and steps back.

“Good as new,” he says. 

“You're the best,” you smile. 

“This one just needs butterfly bandages,” Jerome tells you, thumbing the cut on your face. “It's definitely going to scar, though.”

“I don't care, scars are hot,” you reply with a shrug of your good shoulder. 

Jerome laughs and you go to pull him into a kiss, when your earpiece starts to crackle. Frowning, the two of you separate and listen. 

“Queenie, I know you can hear me…” Jim’s voice sounds gruff and stuttered, the distance between the earpieces being almost too much. 

“Gordon,” you say. “Still alive I see. I take it you're using Aaron's earpiece?”

You draw out your phone to press the kill switch, only to find your screen broken. It must have happened when Jerome tackled you to the ground. The device won't even turn back on and you throw it angrily against the wall. 

“I know you and Jerome killed his father,” Jim accuses.

“Dad is dead?” Jerome asks in a heartbreakingly soft voice, unable to keep himself from grinning. 

“Cut the crap,” Jim snaps. “We found your DNA on the sofa. We can put you at the scene.”

“Well shit, you got us,” you say,  stomping on the bits of phone that haven't been smashed by the wall. “Puddin’, we really should have waited to do it in the car.”

“I regret nothing,” Jerome says.

“You're both sick and when you get to Arkham, I'll see to it you're both locked in solitary, and you will never see each other again,” Jim vows. “I may have been too late this time, but you and Jerome won’t get your way. I don’t know what your end game is, but you will be brought to justice.” 

“Try me, little man,” you growl back, before yanking the device out. 

You throw it into the garbage disposal and Jerome does the same, flipping the switch. Crunching metal never sounded so good. Normally you would have doubted they’d be smart enough to use it to track you. Given the circumstances, you're not taking any chances. 

“I was so hoping he’d die back there,” Jerome growls. “Why won't that man die?!”

You don't want to think about Gordon anymore. You feel sticky and gross, dried blood caked on your face and hands. “I need a shower,” you conclude. “Make yourself comfortable, I'll be back.”

Jerome slaps your ass as you walk by. He moves toward the bedroom, while you head to the bathroom. 

The water takes a long time to heat up, and when it finally does you can't help but moan as the spray hits your body. Closing your eyes, you stand under cascade of water, letting it wash away the blood and makeup. Both your injuries sting like a sonuvabitch, however the hot water helps clean them out. 

You're in a state of serenity, humming to yourself while you gently scrub your arms and face. It takes a long time for the water to run clear, but when it does you turn off the shower and climb out. 

Towel wrapped around your body, you stand in front of the mirror, wiping the condensation away with your hand. For a while you stand staring at your reflection, noting how bright and happy your eyes look, and how your face is practically glowing. 

Your eyes linger on the cut, and after making sure it's not bleeding anymore, you close the deeper areas with the butterfly bandages Jerome suggested. 

“Queenie! What's taking so long?!” Jerome shouts from across the apartment. 

Your body warms when you realize what's waiting for you in the bedroom. Giving your cut another once over, you wink at your reflection and finish drying yourself with the towel. Afterwards, you let it fall to the floor and leave the bathroom. 

The bedroom is small, mostly taken up by the king-sized bed in the center. Jerome is stretched out, still clad in those shorts as he picks at a piece of string sticking up from the comforter. Once he sees you however, he grins excitedly and springs to his knees. 

“There's my girl,” Jerome growls.

You grin back, coming to stand at the foot of the bed. “Damn, you look good like that, Valeska,” you hum. 

Jerome beckons you forward with his finger and you scramble up onto the bed. However, your shoulder still hurts and you can't help but wince. 

“Fuck,” you swear, pausing to check the wound. The stitches are holding well, though the area around it is already beginning to bruise. 

It dawns on you that you can’t be as rough as you want, and you grunt with frustration. 

“What's wrong?” Jerome asks, placing kisses along your good shoulder. 

“Just thinking about how we're going to do this,” you say. “I want to just bend you over and take you. But I lost a lot of blood.”

You didn't notice before. Now that you're cleaned up and standing still, you feel slightly dizzy and drained. 

Jerome hums in contemplation. “What to do, what to do,” he says. “Ooo! I know!”

He grabs you by the waist and throws you on your back. When you sit up to protest however, he straddles your hips and places a hand on your chest.

“We'll do it this way,” he says. 

Your heart rate spikes and you grin, laying back and tucking a hand behind your head. 

“You want to ride me, Jerome?” you purr. 

Jerome grins, hands cupping your breasts. “I got mine, now you'll get yours,” he laughs. “Do you have what we need?” 

You nod your head off to the side. “In my bag,” you say, slapping his thigh.

Jerome hops off the bed, bounding for your bag. You make yourself comfortable, watching Jerome's ass as it strains against the tightness of those shorts. 

Pointing at him you say, “I'm going to fuck you tonight.”

Jerome grins over his shoulder, sticking his ass out as he bends to pick up the bag. You watch hungrily, following the sway of his hips as he struts back toward the bed. 

Placing the bag next to you, Jerome sits down to dig through it. You sit up eagerly, draping your arms around his shoulders. He draws out a large bottle of lube, the strap-on, and a butt-plug, after which he pushes the bag onto the floor. It's hard to read his expression, though you would have to guess he's more intrigued than nervous.

Jerome is never nervous. In fact, most new experiences thrill him. He cranes his neck to look you in the eye, grinning. Wordlessly, you lay a smacking kiss on his cheek before withdrawing and picking up the strap-on. The clear silicone toy is wide and long, and you take a second to admire it before standing and stepping into it. 

On the bed, Jerome watches you through hooded eyes, leaning back on his elbows. “Confession time,” he says, holding up the plug. “Not gonna need this!” He tosses it off to the side, ignoring your protests. 

“Don't throw my shit,” you scold, tightening the straps. “Why do you think you won't need the plug? It helps the first couple of times.” You adjust the toy a bit, before you’re confident it’s tight enough to stay put. 

Jerome grabs you by the waist and practically throws you back onto the bed again, grinning wider. “Because I've been practicing while you've been busy!” he says proudly, crawling to hover over you. “Fingers should be enough.”

“Jerome Valeska! You've been exploring yourself without me?!” you gasp. “How dirty and hot of you!”

Jerome laughs, burying his face in your neck. “You got me thinking about it, Queenie,” he purrs, lapping at your damp skin. “And so, all those times you ignored me, I had some fun.”

You groan at the mental image of Jerome touching himself on your old bed. “Fuck, puddin’,” you swear. “I'd like to see that.”

“And I want to fuck your mouth,” Jerome growls, drawing back so he can press his forehead to yours. “You just lay back and I'll handle  _ everything _ .”

The surge of arousal makes you grin. “That's supposed to be my job,” you say.

Jerome wags his eyebrows and sits up, sitting on your thighs. His hands reach up to squeeze your tits, hard enough to make you gasp. Only then does he swoop down to take one of your nipples between his lips, biting down hard enough to bruise.

You don't get to enjoy the pain because Jerome is already pulling away, getting up on his knees to straddle your waist. Those shorts are so tight. You reach down and grab his ass, dragging him forward. 

Jerome kneels there for a minute, hands on his hips as he smiles down at you. “The things I do for you, Queenie,” he says, fingering the band of his underwear. 

“For me, to me, whatever,” you shrug, slapping his ass. “You said something about fucking my mouth?”

Jerome wiggles the shorts down, just enough to pull out his cock. Wasting no time, he leans over you and buries himself into your mouth with a breathless laugh. He’s only slightly hard, so the action doesn’t gag you. Shifting to get comfortable, you lay back and relish in the quick rolling of Jerome’s hips as his cock starts to swell against your tongue. 

Above you, Jerome rests his hands on the stone wall, the soft light from the nearby lamp casting dark shadows on his face. To anyone else he’d probably look menacing and scary. To you however, he looks just as beautiful as ever. 

“Did you know,” he grunts. “that every time I look at your mouth, I can’t help picturing how well my cock fits into it?”

You moan, hollowing your cheeks and sucking as hard as you can. Jerome swears, thrusting harder. This time, he does hit the back of your throat, and you force yourself to breathe through your nose. You close your eyes and let go of the world around you, focusing only on the pulsing flesh in your mouth and the musky scent that invades your nostrils. 

Jerome’s grunts and moans are loud, but not loud enough to mask the sound of the cap of the lube bottle. Your eyes fly open and you glance up in time to see Jerome squirting a generous amount of lube on his fingers, before reaching behind him. Your cunt throbs excitedly at what’s to come and you smirk around Jerome’s cock as he begins to finger himself. 

When your eyes stray to the side, you catch a glimpse of the scene in the mirror above your vanity table, and it’s enough to make you slide your hand down your own body. Jerome towers over you, still thrusting his cock into your mouth as he steadies himself against the wall with his free hand. The other is hidden in those tight shorts, and you can't stop yourself from tugging on them to try to pull them down. 

Jerome laughs breathlessly. “Does my dirty girl want to see?” he growls. 

Whimpering, you nod, your hand slipping between your legs to tease your wetness. Jerome halts his movements for a moment, maneuvering the shorts down and off one leg. The action makes him slip out of your mouth and you take the time to gasp for breath and suck on his inner thigh, leaving a red mark. 

Finally free of the confines of those shorts, Jerome shoves himself back into your mouth and slips his fingers back between his cheeks. The angle still isn’t the greatest for you to see exactly what you want, but you can see enough: the flush of Jerome’s body, the way his lips part as he pants, his hand moving at a surprisingly brutal pace as he hurries to stretch himself for you. 

You blindly reach around until your hand closes around the bottle of lube. Unable to see what you’re doing, it takes some time before you manage to get a decent amount on your hand, abandoning the bottle once more. Looking up at Jerome, you stroke the strap-on, coating it liberally. Jerome glances at the mirror and giggles excitedly, watching you stroke yourself. 

Without warning, he withdraws his cock, leaving a line of spit and precum down your lips and chin. Jerome’s eyes burn into yours as he slips his fingers out of himself, and grabs the strap-on. You hold it at the base and blow him a kiss. 

The low moan of both pleasure and pain Jerome lets out as he slowly lowers himself onto your cock is better than any music you’ve ever heard in your life. Grabbing his hips, you give a shallow thrust up, watching gleefully as his body bounces upward. He falls forward slightly, bracing himself with one hand on your chest and the other still guiding you in. 

“You look so pretty from this angle,” you tell him breathlessly, thrusting again, this time harder. 

Jerome pitches forward with a cry, other hand coming around to land on the bed. “Should have known you’d give as good as you got,” he replies with a grunt, hair falling into his eyes. “Come on, Queenie, fuck me like you mean it.” 

Fingers digging into his hips, you start to fuck him, though not as hard as you want to. You’re mindful of hurting him, because it would do no good to completely wreck your boyfriend the night before such an important day. Jerome is heedless of the next day, however, riding you for all you’re worth. Eyes still burning into yours, teeth clenched, hand pressing you into the mattress, he pushes back to meet your thrusts each time, taking more and more of the toy until you feel your lap slap his.

Your shoulder aches and you wince, squirming to try to relieve the pain he's causing by pressing you to the bed. Jerome has to see your expression, he is staring at you after all. 

Yet, his hand remains firmly planted on your chest. 

A wave of emotion suddenly hits, and you realize with surprise that you’re not actually in control anymore. Sure, your hips are moving up to bury the toy in that beautiful boy of yours, but he’s the one setting the pace, he’s the one directing all the movement, he’s the one doing the fucking, yet being fucked at the same time. The phrase “topping from the bottom” comes to mind briefly, before a harsh moan from Jerome steals your focus back to his gyrating body. 

When did this happen? When did you become comfortable with him leading? Part of you wonders if you should be worried at the lack of control, but the other part wants only to please him, make him keep grunting and moaning because the second he arches his back a certain way, he gives the most erotic shout. Jerome moves with complete abandon and urges every thrust to that particular angle. 

You memorize the expression on his face, even when he finally closes his eyes and throws his head back. His cock is rubbing against your stomach, hot and heavy, so ready to burst. Your hands are glued to his waist however, and you don’t dare move them for fear of losing the brutal momentum he has. 

Jerome doesn't seem bothered you're not touching him, nor does he even seem aware of your presence anymore. He grips himself tight and starts to stroke in time with his movements, moaning so loud you’re sure they can hear him through the stone and concrete. With no warning, his come erupts from his cock in violent spurts, coating your stomach and chest in warm stripes of white until his erection gives a feeble twitch and goes limp. 

The man himself sags forward, chest heaving and he dips his head low, licking some of it up your chest, between your breasts, until his mouth meets yours so he can share the taste. Moaning, you suck on his tongue, cleaning every last drop of his release. 

Spent and sore, Jerome draws back, slowly rising off the strap-on with a visible wince of pain. He drops down on his back next to you, instantly regretting it. 

“Dumb move, dumb move,” he repeats over and over as he tries to adjust. 

You start to laugh, your body shaking from the intense display you were privileged to witness. “Smooth,” you tease, slowly sitting up. 

Gritting your teeth against the pain, you roll your injured shoulder to work out the tension, sighing as the pain fades to a dull throb.

Jerome grins at you, wiggling his eyebrows. “Now we’re even,” he says. 

You smile wanly, letting him think he’s right as you undo the straps of the toy and carefully place it on the nightstand. Too tired to stand, you scour the floor for the blanket that was lost in the excitement, using the end to clean the mess left over from Jerome’s climax. Jerome barely lets you finish before he’s dragging you closer, forcing you to drape yourself across his chest. 

Overwhelming exhaustion from the night’s events has taken its toll and you both find your eyes drooping. It’s not until Jerome’s chest is steadily rising and falling, and your own eyes are refusing to stay open, that you realize something critical has changed. 

You didn’t come.  

The next day is the quietest you’ve ever had. You and Jerome spend your time leisurely in bed. Plans are already in place, so there’s nothing left to do but stay put until nightfall. The benefit isn’t until much later in the evening, and with being shot and everything, you need all the sleep you can get. 

By the time you roll out of bed, it's nearly four o’clock in the afternoon. Time is strange when you're underground. Every hour just bleeds together. 

Naked, you cross the room to your vanity table, sitting down so you can get a good look at yourself. 

The area around your bullet wound is completely bruised, deep purples and reds spreading in all directions. Your other shoulder is covered in old bite marks from previous nights, already faded.

You lean in close to look at the cut across your face, slowly peeling off the butterfly bandages. The cut stays closed, the deeper areas caked with dried blood.

“Jerome,” you call over your shoulder to the mound of blankets that hides your lover. 

No response.

Sighing, you grab a brush and throw it at the lump. It makes a loud thud and you hear a “OW!” 

“Jerome, go get me the first aid kit,” you order, turning back to the mirror.

Jerome grumbles and stirs, popping his head out from the sea of blankets. His hair is in absolute disarray, and he looks grumpy. “I'm sore,  _ you  _ go get it,” he says.

Putting on your best pout, you turn around and bat your eyes. “But, baby, I was shot. I'm still woozy.”

Jerome rolls his eyes. “And my ass hurts,” he counters. “Also, don't give me that face. You know it doesn't work anymore.”

You can't help grinning, getting up with a snicker. “A nice bath will probably help make you feel better,” you tell him.

By the time you get the kit and return, Jerome is getting to his feet, albeit shakily. You sit back down at the vanity and pull out the antiseptic and a few cotton swabs. 

Jerome slowly walks over as you get to work cleaning the dried blood from your cut. “We need to make a pit stop on the way to our performance,” he says.

“Oh yeah? Where?” you ask. “You've kept most of the details of tonight to yourself.”

“We need to pick up our date to the benefit,” Jerome says casually, resting his hands on the back of your chair. 

Pausing for a moment, you smirk back. “And who's our date, puddin’?” you ask.

Jerome grins.

\---

Lee's apartment is laughably easy to break into. Then again, it's Gotham. The city has a serious security issue. All you need is a simple lock-pick and you’re in. 

While you place a vase of flowers on the kitchen table, Jerome does a sweep of the room. You can't help but notice his walk, and you smirk.

“A bit bowlegged are we?” you tease.

Jerome spins around and grins. “More than a bit,” he says. “You worked me good, Queenie.”

“No, you worked yourself,” you correct. “I just laid there and watched you take it, like a champ.”

Jerome giggles, moving in close. “Nice flowers,” he comments. 

When he leans toward them however, you stop him. “Probably shouldn't,” you say. “These are  _ special  _ flowers. They have a special perfume that I made all by myself.”

Jerome laughs and grabs your hand, pulling you against his chest. “We're going to be this way forever,” he vows, spinning you around to face him. With a hand clutching yours, and the other on your hip, he begins to waltz you around the kitchen. “Killing, fucking, plotting, over and over again until we both die.”

“Please, puddin’,” you say, allowing him to lead. “As if death could stop us.”

Jerome cackles, spinning you away from him, only to bring you back in. “According to dear-old-dad, I'm going to be the death of you,” he says.

“Eh, whatever,” you shrug. “I'll probably be the death of you too. It's cool, what we've done with this city will live on, and that's the most important part.”

Jerome hums in agreement, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning in for a kiss. You grant him one, cupping his cheek to keep him in place. His teeth bite at your bottom lip excitedly, arms crushing you to his chest so hard it's difficult to breathe. 

There will never be anyone else. No one can compare to Jerome, and they never will. 

Drawing back with a gasp, you place your hands on his chest and shove him back. “Down, boy,” you pant, grinning. “I want to snoop before Lee gets here.”

Jerome flings his arm around your shoulders, making you wince as he leads you down the hall and into the living room. There's a door off to the side and you move to investigate, while Jerome wanders elsewhere.

Lee's room is tidy, her bed neatly made. A dress lays carefully draped across the bedspread and you admire it for a moment, fingers trailing down the fabric. She's going to look wonderful in it. 

The room smells like her, and your body warms as you open one of her drawers, taking in the carefully folded array of undergarments. Suddenly, you hear footsteps, and Jerome hurries into the room.

“She's here,” he whispers excitedly. 

You move to meet him at the door, closing it just enough to leave a small crack to look through. A few seconds later, the front door opens.

Lee enters the apartment with her head bent as she shuffles through the mail. From her bedroom you can't see much, however you do notice that she has her hair and makeup done already. She probably just came from the salon. Again you're stricken by her beauty, and you ache to grab those hips, place kisses along that throat, make her moan with longing...

Lee places her purse and keys down on the kitchen counter, and it's then that she sees the flowers on the table. Her smile is radiant as she crosses the room to look at them. She leans down, inhaling their sweet fragrance.

“Jim, you're always surprising me,” Lee says softly. 

Behind you, Jerome chuckles in your ear.

Lee gives the flowers one more smile before turning towards the bedroom. Jerome pulls you away from the door, pulling you into the closet. You just manage to silently close the door when she enters the room. 

Jerome's body heat is addictively close to yours, and his front is pressed into your back. Through the blinds of the closet you can see Lee moving about her room, examining the dress she had laid out earlier.

After a moment, she begins to unbutton her blouse and your heart soars. Jerome squeezes your hips excitedly, mouth dropping to your neck.

Lee undresses carefully, making sure to drape her blouse over the bed. She wears a simple black bra, but fuck if it doesn't frame her breasts beautifully. 

Jerome sneaks his hand under your skirt, silently fingering you as you both watch Lee undress. You brace your hands on either side of the door, lips pursed together to keep from moaning. 

Lee examines herself in the mirror, touching and poking parts of her body as she does. She seems almost self-conscious, though she really shouldn't be. She's gorgeous. The things you would do to her if she let you.

Jerome's breathing heavily in your ear, his erection digging into your lower back. His fingers keep toying with you, dipping a slender digit in only to drag out and circle your clit. 

Lee steps into the dress and wiggles it up over the swell of those tantalizing hips. She turns her back on the mirror and reaches behind her to pull the zipper up, with minimal difficulty.  

You whimper softly and Lee freezes, making you and Jerome freeze as well. Lee looks around, briefly eyeing the closet until her gaze falls on the bed. She crosses and picks up her buzzing phone, making you exhale with relief. 

“Hi, Jim,” Lee smiles as she talks. “Yeah, I'm ready. How far out are you?”

She walks back to the mirror, smoothing down her dress as she listens to Gordon talk. You close your hand around Jerome's wrist and pull it away, focused on Lee's phone call. 

“Okay, don't rush. Just get here when you can,” Lee sighs. “Oh, and thanks for the flowers. They're beautiful.”

You and Jerome smirk as her smile fades. “Then who…?” 

Lee suddenly leaves the room and you and Jerome silently follow. She's too focused on the flowers to hear or notice. You lean against the door frame to her room while Jerome slips past you, moving silently.

“I'm looking at them right now,” she says to Jim. “There should be a card…”

Tucking the phone between her neck and shoulder, she opens the envelope and her eyes widen as she draws out the glossy piece of paper with the elegantly drawn Q & J. 

“Guess who, gorgeous,” Jerome says, sliding up behind her.

Lee spins around, dropping the phone in surprise. “Jerome!” she exclaims, backing into the table. “How did you get in here?” Her eyes dart around. “Where's Queenie?”

Jerome kicks the phone backwards and it slides across the floor to land in front of you.

“Enjoying the view,” you comment, scooping the phone up. “I've missed you, Leslie.” Putting the device to your ear you say, “She's gonna have to call you back, Jimbo.”

“Queenie,” Jim bellows. “if you or Jerome hurt--”

You end the call and slipping the phone into your pocket. Strolling across the room, you keep your eyes firmly trained on her in case she decides to try anything.

Lee maintains her composure, frozen in place as you approach. “Can't say the feeling is mutual,” she says. “What happened to your face?”

“Jim Gordon happened,” you glare, resisting the urge to touch your cut. “I think it gives me character.”

Lee's gaze flickers to Jerome, who is eyeing her hungrily. “What do you want?” she demands. 

“Hmm...what doooo weee waant? That's a tricky question, Dr. Thompkins,” Jerome says. “We want a lot of things. Chaos. Panic. Each other.  _ You _ .”

Lee swallows thickly, and you can see her reaching back for the flowers. You place a hand on Jerome's arm, stopping him from moving any closer.

“Now, that's no way to treat a guest,” you tut. “Were you going to hit one of us with the flowers we bought you? That's mean!”

“If you think I'm going down without a fight, you're sadly mistaken,” Lee threatens.

“Mmm, we’d  _ love  _ to see you go down,” Jerome purrs. “We’re already worked up from watching you change. There's a bed right in there…”

Lee narrows her eyes angrily, lips pursed. “Pass.”

“Well that's a shot to the ego,” you sigh. “And here we were about to ask you to be our date to the benefit tonight.”

Lee looks horrified and her hand drops from the vase as she stands up straight. “No...no, what are you going to do tonight?” she asks. 

“You may be our favorite, but you're not getting any special treatment,” Jerome says, wagging his finger. “You'll have to wait to find out, just like everyone else.”

Lee seizes the flowers, but you're ready for it and dodge when she throws them at you. Jerome tackles her against the table and she sinks her elbow into his back to try to free herself. 

Jerome manages to wrap his arms around her, holding on as tight as he can while you cross your arms and watch. 

“No! Get off me!” Lee yells, throwing her head back and narrowly avoiding colliding with Jerome's nose. Her movements are getting slower however, and she starts to blink rapidly

“Technically, I'm  _ around  _ you, not  _ on  _ you,” Jerome giggles. 

“What...what's happening?” Lee asks, words slurring together. “How...what…?” She's still struggling, but is quickly losing energy. Suddenly, she starts to giggle, a side-effect of the drug that you could never quite figure out. 

“Shhh, shhh, Lee, it's okay,” you say soothingly. "Did you like the flowers? It's the same gas I use in my smoke grenades. I played with the formula a bit, made it more liquidity, and then sprayed it on the petals. Unfortunately, it takes a while to kick in...which should be right about  _ now. _ ”

Lee realizes her mistake and summons the last of her energy, jamming her heel into Jerome's foot. He swears, letting her go in surprise. She knocks him down and shoves you in the process. But it's too late. 

The drug is already in her system and you catch her hand as she tries to run, stifling her forced laughter. Still fighting, she wriggles out of your grasp, stumbling toward the door. She can only take a few steps before she collapses. 

Calmly, you stroll to where she's attempting to crawl away, and sit down next to her. With a blissful sigh, you draw her into your lap, though she wearily protests. Cradling her close, you gingerly brushing the hair from her forehead. 

“Jim...will...stop you,” Lee says through tired giggles, eyes struggling to remain open. Her hand grabs your upper arm, though she's so weak you simply take it in your own. 

“Jim is the reason you're in this mess, lovely,” you coo, stroking her cheek with your free hand. “He's relentless and won't give up. So we have to make him. But don't worry, I'll take good care of you.”

Lee falls limp and you brush your thumb down her lips, aching to kiss them. 

Jerome groans as he gets to his feet. “She's so scrappy,” he comments, rubbing his ass with a wince. “Come on, doll face. Our big night awaits.”

Admiring Lee's peaceful face for another second, you come back to reality and nod, smiling up at Jerome. “Showtime,” you say. 

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have had such a love/hate relationship with this fic. I honestly am glad I took a chance and wrote it. It's been an interesting experience, and it's my most popular fic on ao3! Thanks for reading and sticking with me!

 

At your feet, the entertainers for the evening’s benefit lay dead, stripped of their costumes. The back doors of the van sit open, showing strewn about props. Lee has already been loaded in and is hidden in the magician’s box, on the off chance your van is checked on the way in. 

The magician’s uniform looks wonderful on Jerome. You admire him as you wiggle into the ridiculous outfit his assistant was forced to wear. It's a size too small for you, but not enough to impede your movements. 

“Queenie,” Jerome says. “I've been thinking.”

“Dirty thoughts? Filthy raunchy sexy thoughts about doing things to each other?” you ask. 

Jerome laughs. “Always,” he winks. “No, see, I was thinking about what our next big move after this should be.”

“Oh?” you ask, tilting your head with curiosity. “And what were you thinking, puddin’?”

“I don't like owing people favors,” Jerome says, adjusting the sleeves of his coat. “We need to take care of that right away.”

“What? You mean Oswald?” you ask. “Baby, that's mob business. You really want to go down that rabbit hole?”

Jerome grabs your hips and pulls you against him. “Oh, doll face, you know your hole is the only one I want to go down,” he teases. Over your laughter he adds, “It's just, if anyone is going to be king of anything, it should be me. You're the queen after all.”

Body tingling, you groan and take his face in your hands, bringing him into a kiss. “It won't be easy,” you say between kisses. “He's got more connections and more blood on his hands than we do.”

“That's what makes it  _ fun _ ,” Jerome giggles. His hands slip down to pat your ass. “This dress doesn't cover anything. I love it.”

You draw back, letting him go. “Wish it covered this hole in my shoulder,” you complain, touching the bullet wound. “It's a dead giveaway.” You managed to hide Jerome's bite marks and hickeys with tons of makeup, but the injury is harder.

“No one knows you're shot besides us,” Jerome says. “We'll say it’s was an act gone ary. Your mask will hide the cut on your face at least.”

You sigh and pull the mask off the dead woman, slipping it on. “How do I look?”

Jerome's grin fades and he takes a few calculating steps forward, forcing you to sit in the back of the van. “Good enough to eat,” he grunts, grabbing your legs and wrapping them around his waist.

“Time crunch,” you remind him.

Jerome rolls his eyes and thrusts himself between your legs. “I'll be quick,” he promises, tugging at your stockings. 

With a glare, you place your heel in the middle of his chest and push him back, keeping your foot there even when he breaks contact with the rest of you. 

“We've had this discussion before, Jerome,” you say. “When I say ‘no', it's no. Got it?”

Jerome regards you with a pout, hands closing around your ankle. “Someone is grumpy,” he teases. 

“And someone was too eager last night to notice I was in pain,” you say. You dig your heel into him and shove him harder this time, knocking his hands away. “Also, you didn’t make  _ me  _ come last night, asshole! It was supposed to be  _ my  _ night! I let  _ you  _ come when you killed your dad.”

“Is  _ that _ what this is about?” Jerome huffs. “I can fix it right now. Let me get my mouth on you.” 

He takes a step toward you, but you stand this time, placing your hand on his chest to hold him back. “That's not the point and you know it,” you snap.

Jerome regards you carefully for a few seconds, before offering a mock bow. “You're absolutely right, gorgeous,” he says. “Apologies. Forgive me?”

He stares at you with those wide puppy-dog eyes and you feel your anger waver. “Maybe later,” you tell him, straightening his tie. “When you have time to properly make it up to me.”

Jerome reaches up to stroke your hand. “You're my everything, Queenie,” he says in a low voice. “What I'm doing tonight, I'm doing for  _ us.  _ We can't afford to fight right now.”

Like a switch, the anger is back. You don't enjoy being played. But you keep it in, because you don't have time to get into a full blown fight. And because you need to be careful in handling this. 

“You're absolutely right. Let's go be bad guys,” you smirk, masking your rage.

Jerome grins, swooping in for a kiss before pulling away. While you climb into the passenger's seat, he closes the back of the van and then gets into the front. Once behind the wheel, he pulls out a fake goatee and sticks it onto his face. Between that and his mask, no one will know it’s him.

With a whoop of excitement, Jerome starts the van and heads in the direction of the benefit.

Security for the event is unsurprisingly light. You don't even need to show them ID. 

“Magicians, huh?” the guard asks, leaning on your door. “Like making people disappear and stuff that?”

“That's  _ exactly  _ right,” Jerome grins.

“Ouch, what happened there?” the guard asks, motioning to your shoulder.

“Rehearsal injury,” you lie smoothly. “My own fault. Wasn't watching the knife carefully enough.”

“You should see the last assistant!” Jerome jokes.

The guard laughs and steps back, tipping his hat. “Have a nice show,” he says. “Be careful with that shoulder.”

“You're so sweet,” you flirt, batting your eyelashes. “I'll be  _ extra  _ careful now.”

The guard blushes and you give him a wave as Jerome pulls forward. 

“I thought you weren't doing that anymore,” Jerome asks, driving around the back of the building.

“If you expect me to sit quietly and look pretty, you can kindly fuck right off,” you say. “Besides, it was harmless flirting. It's not like I offered to blow him.”

“Wouldn't be the first guard,” Jerome says.

You roll your eyes and turn your head to face him, only to find a teasing smile. He's purposefully trying to rile you up. Why? Who knows why Jerome does what he does. 

“I already fucked you so you're bowlegged,” you say. “Keep it up and next time you won't be able to walk at all.”

“I'll gladly let you paralyze me to teach me a lesson,” Jerome teases. “ _ If _ an epic orgasm is involved.”

“Yeah, yeah, you're a real joker,” you roll your eyes with a smile.

“I thought you loved my sense of humor!” Jerome exclaims.

“Oh, I do,” you assure him. “You make me laugh.”

“I make you scream too.”

You pull up to the employee entrance, and set about unloading your things. Several waiters rush to help, oddly diligent and silent as Jerome orders them around. 

You're led through a few hallways until you're brought backstage. There, you ready the stage excitedly, making sure all the props are in the proper place. Unable to stop yourself, you peek through the curtains. 

The ballroom is absolutely filled with people, Gotham’s richest looking all dolled up for an evening of throwing money at the hospital and pretending it makes them better people. 

Jerome comes up behind you to look. “Who's the kid?” he asks.

Frowning, you crane your neck to scan the room, until you spot a pre-teen boy standing with an older gentleman. 

“That's Bruce Wayne,” you tell him. “Richer than most of the people here. Parents were murdered not too long ago. You're looking at the sole heir to Wayne Enterprise.”

“Ooo, Gotham royalty,” Jerome says excitedly. “Who's the man with him?”

“The butler, I think,” you say. “Takes care of the kid. I've seen them around a lot of charity events.”

“Good to know,” Jerome grins. He teasingly nips your neck. “Come on, it's almost time. We need to get the doctor into place.”

Jerome moves about backstage, while you stroll to the magician’s box and carefully open the doors. Lee falls forward, still unconscious and you catch her, buckling under her weight.

With no help from Jerome, you drag Lee over to the giant target set aside for the knife trick. It takes a few tries but eventually you secure her to the slab of wood. She just begins to stir while you finish the ties. 

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” you coo. “How ya feelin’?”

“Where am I?” Lee asks.

“You are at that benefit for the children's hospital that happens every year,” you say. “And we're just about to take center stage!”

“J-Just stop this,” Lee says meekly. “You have to know this won't end well.”

“True,” you say. “Though for who remains to be seen.”

Lee says your name, and it sounds so soft and beautiful coming from her, that you can’t help reaching up to cup her cheek. Lee immediately freezes, eyes wide. Fingers trailing along her jaw, you trace her slightly parted lips.

“It's a shame we're on opposite ends of this,” you say. “I think we would have been a great team.”

You lean in.

Jerome's voice cuts through the moment, stopping you. “It's showtime, Queenie!” he exclaims. 

Growling with disappointment, you shoot him a glare. Not that he notices, he's readying himself to face the audience. You stroke Lee's cheek once more and tweak her nose. 

“See you in a bit!” you say, and throw a sheet over her and the target. 

Jerome turns and offers you his hand, leading you to your place on stage. From the other side of the curtain, you can hear the crowd clapping as the Deputy Mayor Kane takes the stage. 

“Thank you,” he addresses the crowd. “Thank you all for coming. Normally, Dr. Lee Thompkins does our welcome speech, but I am honored to be filling in for her tonight. This benefit continues to grow and expand every year…” 

Jerome steps into the box. “Blah, blah, blah,” he mutters. “Get on with it, old man.” 

“Kiss for luck?” you ask, smirking at him as you place your hands on the doors. 

Jerome grins and leans in for a quick kiss before giving you a small salute. You wink and close the doors, then stand next to the box, waiting for the cue. 

“Please welcome, the Great Radolfo!” 

The curtains part and the spotlight shines as the crowd claps excitedly. You bow to them and fling open the doors to the box, only to find Jerome gone. Turning to the crowd with mock surprise, you relish in their enthusiasm as you close the doors, pretend to think, then open them again. 

Jerome stands there looking bored, feigning a yawn. The crowd cheers and he steps out, bowing low. Offering you his hand, the both of you step forward. 

“Greetings, ladies and gentlemen!” Jerome exclaims. “I am the Great Radolfo! Please, ogle my lovely assistant!” 

You do a deep curtsy, jumping with an exaggerated gasp as Jerome pinches your backside. You playfully hit him on the chest. The crowd giggles and laughs at the display. Jerome reaches into his pocket and pulls out a scarf, and after a quick flick of his wrist, reveals a rose and presents it to you with a dazzling smile. The crowd coos at the trick as you gasp with delight, taking the rose and planting a peck on his cheek. Jerome giggles and pretends to blush. 

The crowd is eating it all up, as Jerome proceeds to perform several simple sleight of hand tricks. Tucking the rose behind your ear, you keep your eyes peeled for trouble, though there really doesn't seem to be anything amiss.

“For my first illusion,” Jerome exclaims, gesturing toward the crowd. “I’d like to call esteemed Deputy Mayor, Harrison Kane back on stage. He did such a  _ wonderful  _ job with our introduction, didn't he folks?”

You skip down the steps and into the crowd, stopping just in front of the man Jerome has singled out. The Deputy Mayor chuckles and takes your offered hand, allowing you to lead him up onto the stage. As he steps toward Jerome, you grab a nearby cart, carefully pushing it toward them. With a dramatic flourish, you whip off the black sheet, revealing the set of shiny knives and two pistols. 

There are a few harmless murmurs as the guests try to figure out what the trick could possible be. 

You pull an apple out from the pouch hidden in the back of your skirt. With a giggle, you place it on Kane’s head and grab his shoulders, forcing him to remain still.

Jerome considers the weapons and picks up one of the pistols. Tension immediately falls over the crowd, and the Deputy Mayor even freezes. 

“Don't worry,” you giggle. “He's got great aim with his pistol.”

Jerome smirks. “At least, she's never complained,” he whispers loudly to the audience. 

That breaks some of the tension and several people give weak laughs. Jerome examines the pistol and aims. 

“Oh no, it's too much pressure! I can’t look!” he moans dramatically and covers his eyes. 

You give a fake shriek of fear and duck behind Kane.

Jerome pulls the trigger, and water squirts out of the end, hitting the Deputy Mayor in the face. Relief washes over the people in the room and everyone laughs, including Kane. 

Jerome makes a noise of frustration and tosses that pistol to the side. Without warning, he picks up the other one and fires at the apple, shooting it into a million pieces.

Everyone gasps and falls silent for a moment, then there's a thunderous applause and the Deputy Mayor sags against you. 

Jerome bows deeply and places the pistol back on the cart, while you reveal a second apple out of nowhere and place it on Kane’s head. This time, you don't need to keep him still, because he trusts Jerome.

Which is a very stupid thing to do. 

You watch Jerome pick up one of the knives, smiling behind your mask at how calm and serene he looks. 

“By the way,” he addresses the crowd. “Nobody here, is getting out alive.”

He's so charismatic and cavalier about it, the crowd merely laughs.

Jerome grins at them, before flicking his wrist and sending the knife sailing into the Deputy Mayor’s chest.

The apple rolls off his head as he pitches forward and you manage to catch it before it hits the ground, holding it up triumphantly. The results are instantaneous. Everyone gasps, a few people even scream. You toss the apple over your shoulder and clap enthusiastically, while Jerome smiles your way, eyes twinkling. 

People get up and start to run for the exits. However, the waiters drop their trays and pull out automatic rifles, firing into the air. That actually takes you by surprise. You never hired goons for the evening. 

That means Jerome must have. With your money no doubt.

“Tah-dah!” Jerome shouts, throwing his hands up in the air. 

People are screaming, while the hired help continues to fire, wrangling them all together. You and Jerome remain on stage, watching the chaos with excitement. Jerome's laugh can be heard above the screams, mocking those trying to flee. 

Finally, the noise quiets as those who are trapped in the room realize they aren't getting out anytime soon. The mercenaries stop shooting, patrolling between tables and threatening anyone who tries to do something. 

“Queenie,” Jerome's says, removing his fake facial hair, mask, and top hat. “I think our good friend Detective Gordon should be here. Don't you?” 

You pull your mask off, ignoring the gasps from the crowd, and slip Lee's phone out of your pocket, chuckling at the nearly fifty missed calls she has. Swiping the screen, you dial Jim's number and bring the phone to your ear.

"Lee!” Jim answers after the first ring. “Thank god, I've been trying to--”

“Sorry, Jimbo!” you cut him off. “I'm not your main squeeze.”

“Queenie, what have you and Jerome done?” Jim demands. 

“Lots of stuff,” you shrug. “But enough about my sex life. I'm calling because I want to know where you are.”

“Closer than you think,” he answers gruffly.

You gasp. “Are you here already?” you ask. “Are you outside?”

Before you can get an answer, Jerome steps closer and yanks the phone out of your hand, ignoring your glare. He turns it on speaker and snickers. 

“You are, aren't you!” he exclaims. “Ohh goodie!” 

“I swear to god, if you've hurt her…” Jim threatens.

“Breathe, James,” Jerome says. “I haven't touched a hair on your girlfriend's pretty head. See for yourself! This is live television after all!”

He motions to someone offstage and it's then that you notice the camera has been broadcasting this whole time. 

Jerome turns to you. “Queenie, the curtain.”

A surge of defiance washes over you and you cross your arms, not enjoying being ordered around like everyone else. “Excuse me?” you snap. “Is that how you talk to me now?”

Jerome sighs theatrically. “Doll face, I'm trying to be dramatic here,” he scoffs. “Can we argue about this later?” He speaks out of the side of his mouth. “We're on TV.”

A raised eyebrow tells him you're not dropping it. “Women, am I right, Jim?” he mutters into the phone. 

To you, he puts on a soft smile, slipping an arm around your waist. “Queenie, would you  _ kindly  _ get the curtain?” he asks politely. 

“I don't know,  _ convince  _ me to,” you purr, fisting his coat.

Jerome grins excitedly and covers your mouth with his, growling low in his throat. His hand grips the back of your head, crushing you against him as his tongue visibly slips into your mouths. The atmosphere in the room changes as people grow uncomfortable.

“Alright, enough!” Jim snaps. “I'd rather lose the feed then watch more of this.”

Satisfied, you draw your mouth away and bump your front against Jerome's in promise, before ducking out of his arms and skipping across the stage. Jerome follows close behind, and when you pull the curtain off the target to reveal a semi-conscious Lee, he laughs excitedly, gesturing toward the camera.

“You son-of-a-bitch,” Jim swears.

“True,” Jerome says, hand on his hip. “But not the point. Let's talk about what I want.” He strolls toward the camera, pretending to think. 

“Forty-seven million dollars, a helicopter, obviously, dry-cleaning I left at Mr. Chang's, careful the man is a crook, and, oh, I don't know...a pony!” Jerome flashes the camera a smile. “You got ten minutes or I start killing people and remember this is broadcast to every home in Gotham, so, you know. Don't let people die. Bye!”

He laughs hysterically and waves at the cameraman, who cuts the feed. 

Instantly, Jerome stops laughing and turns to you. “I think that went well,” he says. 

“Stop this!” a man in the crowd yells. “You have no right--” 

Without waiting for more, you grab one of the knives off the cart and throw it at the man, catching him in the forehead. He drops instantly and the people around him scream.

“Whoopsies!” you say.

“Queenie!” Jerome sighs. “Where's your showmanship? You could have toyed with him first!”

“Not really in a playful mood,” you say. “What's your plan here, J? You know they won't be able to meet those demands. And you don't care about money.”

Jerome laughs, grabbing your hand and tugging you forward. “Of course they won't,” he says. “But that's not the point, doll face.”

“What is?” you ask.

Jerome leans in close. “You're the one who taught me it's not about having money, it's about taking money. As for the point of all of this, there isn't one,” he whispers in your ear. The tip of his tongue briefly dips on and then he's pulling back. “Aside from making Gordon suffer of course.”

Grinning, you thumb his bottom lip. “Perfection,” you say. “No end goal means they're always kept guessing. You're diabolical!”

“I'm just getting started, sweets,” Jerome winks and draws away, addressing the room. “Well, I think it’s time for tonight’s next victim, don’t you agree? You all know him; poor rich boy, parents murdered in an alley and everyone’s favorite little Wayne. Where is Bruuuuce?” 

There’s no response. You look out in the crowd, but you don’t see the young man anymore, only his butler.

“You know Queenie and I are orphans too, Bruce?” Jerome asks, strolling across the stage. “We killed our parents though.” The kid still doesn’t show. “Where are you hiding?!” 

Jerome is getting angry now. You can see it in the way his jaw clenches. 

“What do you want the kid for anyways?” you ask, hands on your hips. 

Jerome makes a noise of annoyance and spins around to face you. “Becaaaausssse, what would get under Gordon’s skin more than losing his girlfriend, and the kid of the most richest family in Gotham?” Jerome suddenly spins back to the crowd. “BRUCE! Where are ya, buddy?” 

You turn your head and study the man he was standing with earlier, pointing him out to Jerome. “He knows little Brucie,” you say. 

Jerome’s eye zero in on the butler, and before he even can open his mouth, one of the men he hired is grabbing the older gentleman by the back of his suit jacket, pushing him towards the stage. 

“What’s your name, old man?” you ask. 

“Alfred,” he grunts, glaring at the pair of you. 

“Alfred, where did little Bruce scurry off to?” Jerome demands. 

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” Alfred responds. 

Jerome sighs. “Last chance, Bruce,” he says, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Or Alfred’s brains are going to wind up all over the floor. It’s gonna be a big mess, the custodian will have to clean it up, blah blah blah…” He swipes the pistol off the cart, twirling it between his fingers. “BRUCIE!” 

Nothing.

“I’m bored,” you complain. 

Jerome huffs with disappointment. “Whatever,” he says. “I’m bored too.”

He points the gun at Alfred and pulls the trigger, but nothing happens. Shaking the pistol, he tries again, yet still nothing. Angrily throwing the weapon, he waves to the man holding Alfred at gunpoint. 

“Just shoot him!” he orders. 

“STOP!” a voice says from the back of the room. 

You watch in surprise as Bruce hurries between the tables, towards Alfred. His reappearance is surprising to say the least, and you instantly don’t trust it. 

“Jerome…” you warn.

Jerome ignores you, grabbing a knife and hurrying off the stage. He seizes Bruce around the waist and ripping him out of Alfred’s arms as the two try to stay together. Your hired hand holds Alfred back and Jerome puts the knife to Bruce’s neck, pulling him toward the stage. 

“You! Check behind the curtain,” you snap at one of the minions. “Make sure no one is hiding back there.” 

As soon as the man steps in that direction, a shot rings out and he falls dead. Alfred elbows the man holding him, suddenly withdrawing a gun from his jacket and shooting him as well.

Jim emerges from the curtain, gun at the ready.

Upon seeing him, Jerome tugs Bruce on stage and you grab the last knife from the tray on the way to Lee. You cut her free and clutch her to your chest, using her as a human shield.

She’s more alert now, but not by much, still fighting to hold her head up. Her hands weakly grab your arm as she sags against you. The tip of the blade scratches her neck. 

“DROP THE KNIFE!” Gordon yells, gun pointed at you, then Jerome, then back to you.

“Which one of us?” you tease. 

Jerome giggles excitedly, holding Bruce close. “Seems you have a bit of a pickle here, Jimmy,” he grins. 

“I don’t have a clean shot,” Gordon says to Alfred. 

“Stay calm, Bruce,” Alfred says, gun trained on Jerome. 

Bruce remains frozen as Jerome holds him tight, the edge of the knife ever so gently cutting his neck. The delicate skin splits beautifully, blood seeping out to glisten in the spotlight, 

Jerome laughs. “Queenie, my dear,” he calls over his shoulder. “Now that the Detective in here, why don’t you show him what his girlfriend’s organs look like? I’m sure he’s  _ dying  _ to know!”

“Anything you say, baby,” you tell him, gently dragging the tip down the front of Lee's dress, cutting the fabric. To her, you sigh. “Sorry, sweetie. It’s been fun.” 

Without warning, her hand tighten on your arm and her elbow catches you in the stomach. 

Winded, you loosen your grip, giving Lee the chance to pull on your arm. She swings you around, before sinking her fist directly into your bullet wound. 

Screaming in pain, you drop the knife right before Lee shoves you backwards, into the empty cart. You stumble and fall, watching as she kicks your knife, sending it skidding across the stage. With an angry screech, you shakily get to your feet, when suddenly, several gunshots ring out and searing pain rips through your abdomen and chest, making you gasp. 

Time seems to stop and you look down to see red blooming across your light pink dress. In a daze, you touch your stomach and chest, the red soaking in between your fingers. 

Jerome whips his head around just in time to see the stunned expression on your face as you look at your own blood. 

“Oh...didn't see that coming...” you quip quietly, and fall to your knees on the stage.

“ _ QUEENIE!”  _ Jerome bellows. 

Bruce takes the opportunity to jab Jerome with his elbow, ducking out from under his arm. Jerome stumbles, and Alfred lowers his gun in favor of grabbing Bruce.

Gordon rushes up onto the stage, gun still drawn, but Jerome has lost all sense and he lets out a ferocious yell, the likes of which you've never heard before, and dives at Gordon. 

They fall backwards and Gordon's gun is knocked out of his hand, rolling off the stage. You try to call for Jerome, but all that comes out is a violent cough and a splattering of blood. 

Gritting your teeth, you fall forward onto your hands and knees. Your vision swims and grows blurry, though you’re still able to make out people running in all directions and the SWAT team charging in to take down your accomplices. 

Looking back at Jerome, you summon the last of your strength and start to crawl toward where he and Gordon are struggling. 

_ Gotta stop Gordon. Gotta let Jerome get away. Why is it so cold all of a sudden? _

Jim lands a punch but Jerome recovers quickly, shoving Jim off the stage. Jerome turns to look at you, eyes locking onto yours. His mouth moves, yet you can’t hear what he says, all noise muffled and imperceptible. Just past him, Alfred raises his gun again.

You reach out to warn Jerome, choking on blood and sending it spattering against the polished wood of the stage. You watch in horror as Jerome's neck explodes with a red spray as the bullet sails straight through.

Vision tunneling, you watch him take a few steps forward, then fall to the floor, blood spewing from his mouth. He manages to reach out out as you just barely crawl within reach. His fingers are cold when they wrap around yours. 

The last thing you see is that spark of life drain from his eyes as he dies, a bloody smile on his face.

“Huh, so that's what it's like…” you gasp.

Then everything goes black. 

\---

Lee watches the two criminals die and her body heaves with her sigh of relief. After weeks of fear and torment, their reign of terror is finally over. She falls to her knees, her energy giving out as the drug still pumps through her system.

Jim stumbles to her side, adrenaline weakening his legs causing him to collapse in front of her. “Are you alright?” he asks, cupping her cheek and forcing her to look at him. “Did they hurt you?”

Lee’s body is shaking. “I'm fine,” she assures him. “They didn't lay a finger on me.”

Jim sighs with relief, pulling Lee into a crushing hug. She hugs him back, but her eyes can't leave Queenie's body. When Jim withdraws to help her stand, it takes a moment for her legs to work properly. Once he's sure she can stand on her own, Jim squeezes her hands and lets go, turning to address the chaos is the ballroom.

In a daze, Lee slowly walks over to the dead couple, arms wrapped tightly around herself. 

Queenie and Jerome always fascinated her. Separately and together. Though their fascination with her, especially Queenie's, was frightening. 

So why did she feel a twinge of sadness at their demise? 

Off stage, Bruce and Alfred step closer. “Dr. Thompkins? Are you alright?” Bruce asks softly, his wide eyes making her smile, despite herself. 

“I’ll be okay,” she assures him. “Make sure the paramedics look at your neck. The wound looks deep.” To Alfred she says, “Nice shot.”

Alfred gives a curt nod, lips pursed as he removes a handkerchief from his pocket and presses it to Bruce’s cut. “Come on, Master Bruce,” he says. “Let’s get that looked at.” 

Lee watches them leave, then returns her gaze back to Jerome and Queenie. She knows herself. This case isn't over for her, not by a longshot. She's going to be studying their files for the rest of her life trying to answer a simple question: why?

The rose behind Queenie's ear draws Lee's attention, and she carefully untangles it from the girl's hair. Jim's footsteps pull her out of her musings, and she tucks the rose in her dress to hide it as he comes to stand behind her. 

“Situation is under control,” Jim says. “We just need your statement and then I'll take you home.”

“Don't you wonder why this happened, Jim?” Lee asks, staring at Jerome's frozen smile. “What drives two seemingly quiet people to murder and mayhem?”

“They weren't quiet, Lee,” Jim corrects. “They were manipulative and calculating. They didn't care about anyone.”

“They cared about each other,” Lee points out, tearing her eyes away to look up at Jim. “In their own twisted way, at least. And they never showed any signs before that first murder.”

Jim sighs, and Lee knows exactly what it means. He's too tired to argue with her. Instead, he passes a hand through his hair before offering to help her up.

“Come on, it's been a bad night. Let's get your statement and I'll take you to the hospital,” Jim offers. “You should have someone check you out.”

“I'm fine,” Lee insists, allowing him to help her to her feet. “I just want to go home.”

Jim gives her a worried frown. “Are you sure?” he asks.

Lee gives him a soft smile and a nod. Jim considers her for a moment before slipping his arm around her shoulders and leading her away from the dead bodies. Even so, Lee can't help crane her neck around to look back one last time. 

All she sees is Queenie's blank stare, watching her from the stage. 


	21. Epilogue

 

Bright colors suddenly burst before your eyes and your lungs fill with air, forcing a dry gasp through your lips. Your body feels like it’s electrified, every hair on end and every nerve misfiring. Your limbs shudder and twitch, sending you into convulsions. 

All your senses return in one full swoop and you find yourself rolling off whatever surface you were on, landing on cold, stone. You try to get up but it’s not working, and now your head is pounding so hard you want to smash it on the ground. 

You scream. 

A hand gently lands on your shoulder, and the sensation is so foreign and jarring, you scramble away from it and into the darkest corner you can find. 

“Queenie, Queenie, can you hear me?”

Who’s that? Who’s calling you? You don’t know that voice. Where are you? What’s going on?!

A face you’ve never seen before appears from outside the desk you’re hiding under. A man. “Shh, it’s okay,” he assures you, smiling excitedly. “It worked! I can’t believe it worked!”

He tries to reach for you again, and this time you pounce with a yell, pinning him down and clawing at him. With a shout of his own, he tries to block your attack, which he’s able to do because you’re fairly weak. Still, you get your hands around his throat and start to squeeze. 

“No...w-wait…” he chokes out, grabbing your wrists. “I’m here to help. I brought you back.” 

“Who...a-are...you?” you ground out, still choking him. 

“D-Dwight, p-p-please--” 

Too drained to continue, you let your hands slip from his neck and scramble off of him, curling into the fetal position. “Everything hurts,” you cry, burying your head in your arms. “Too bright! TOO LOUD! TOO COLD! MAKE IT STOP!”

“H-Hold on! Hold on, my queen!” Dwight babbles, stumbling to his feet. He hurries around you, flipping switches and turning things off. 

At last he drapes a thick blanket over you and it quells the shaking a bit. The room is quieter now, whatever machinery dormant for the time being. Once your head doesn’t feel like it’s going to explode anymore, you slowly lift it to peer up at him. 

“You’re here. You’re really here! It worked!” Dwight gushes, kneeling down next to you. 

“W-what worked?” you demand. 

“My machine,” Dwight says. “I built this machine to bring you back, and look at you! Good as new! Well, mostly.” 

Very slowly, you push yourself up to sit, the blanket sliding down your exposed body. “Back from what?” you ask. 

“The dead,” Dwight explains. “You died. Jim Gordon shot you. Do you not remember?”

Staring at the floor, you try to sort through your memories. It’s a bit of a blur for a moment, but after a few seconds everything comes rushing back. It’s so overwhelming you start to hyperventilate and Dwight scoots forward, hands reaching toward you. 

“It’s alright, you’re okay,” he coos.

You seize the front of his shirt. “ _ Where is Jerome?!”  _ you ask. 

Dwight nods his head to the side and you turn to look in that direction. Several feet away, a cryo chamber sits tucked in the corner. You shove Dwight back, stumbling to your feet. However, you haven’t used your legs in quite some time, and you nearly fall into the desk, knocking things to the floor. You persist however, until you’re standing in front of the cryo-tube, hands pressed to the glass. Jerome is inside, dead by the looks of it, a bullet wound in his throat. 

_ Alfred. _

Without realizing it, you find yourself laughing, the sound coming out as a hysterical giggle at first before rolling into pure laughter. 

Dwight chuckles nervously nearby. “What’s so funny?”

With tears streaming down your face, you gasp, “The butler did it!”

You can’t stop the laughter, even when your lungs start to burn and your chest hurts. It really hurts.

Looking down at yourself, you're greeted with healing bullet wounds, neatly sewed shut. 

“I told him death probably wouldn’t stop us,” you giggle. “Said it to be funny. Never thought I’d be  _ right!” _

You’re still laughing when Dwight carefully drapes the blanket back around your naked body. “How do you feel?” he asks.

“Terrible,” you say, finally letting your amusement fade. “So, Dwight, when do we bring my Mistah back?”

Dwight’s smile fades slightly and he gives you a nervous look. “Well, I can’t really do that--”

The second he says can’t, your hand is back around his throat. “Excuse me?!” you bellow. 

“It’s just--” Dwight chokes out. “You’re the first time the machine has worked and it fried half the circuits. I’m going to have to rebuild and…” He gasps for air as you squeeze tighter. 

“You mean to tell me,” you glare, pushing him toward the nearest solid object, which happens to be a stone pillar. “That you brought me back from the dead with  _ no way to bring Jerome back?!” _

“Please, let me explain…” Dwight manages to say. “We only wanted to please you. We love you.” 

His words are confusing, forcing you to lessen your grip. “We?”

Dwight gasps for air, clutching his throat. “P-Please, my queen,” he begs. “Please, come with me.” 

He cautiously takes a step to the side, and when you don’t attack him again, he gestures for you to follow. With one final look at Jerome, you tug the blanket around yourself and follow Dwight. You leave the lab and he leads you down a dark hallway. In the distance, muffled pounding can be heard, and you realize after a moment that it’s actually the bass to some song. 

Dwight opens the door at the end of the hall, and the music comes through full blast, making your wince. You follow him through the door, and find yourself on a small stage. Below you, dozens of people are partying, all dressed in striped Arkham-like uniforms. Between the music and flashing lights it’s all disorienting and you resist the urge to run back to the quieter lab. 

A few people take notice of you, and as soon as they do, the atmosphere changes. People stop dancing, the music screeches to a halt, and the flashing lights stop. Only the lights on stage remain lit and Dwight smiles proudly as he gestures to the crowd. 

“My queen, meet your children,” he says. “The Maniax!”

The people explode with applause and screams. Some people even faint when they see you, while others look on in awe. 

“I don’t understand,” you say. 

“We’re your followers,” Dwight explains. “We saw you and Jerome on TV and it was like a revelation. What the two of you did was  _ spectacular!  _ We love you both and are here to live our lives the way you taught us: free! WE ARE NOT COGS!”

The crowd begins to chant “WE ARE NOT COGS” over and over again and the echo fills you with a sense of pride and sick glee. Standing straighter, you take in the group of people, letting a smile slowly spread across your face. 

“I want to speak!” you snap, and the room instantly goes silent. Feeling powerful, you step forward. “Your efforts have not been in vain. I have returned to you.” 

More shouts and cheers erupt, but you hold your hand up and they stop again. “However, I am not complete,” you say. “Not without Jerome. That is why, from this moment forward, none of us will rest until we fix Dwight’s machine and get my puddin’ back.  _ Understood?!” _

A chorus of “yes, my queen!” comes back at you, and your grin widens. 

“He’ll be very excited to see all this,” you tell them. “You’ll do exactly as I say, without question! Anyone who has a problem with that, can see me personally.” You drop your voice low and give them your best glare. “And I will  _ deal  _ with them, personally.” 

Dropping your blanket, you stand there in your naked glory, taking in the crowd a final time. “Now, I have some business to attend to,” you tell them. “Gotta catch up on what’s happened since I died and all. Carry on.” You wave to the DJ, who nods and starts the music again. 

Turning to Dwight, you beckon him to follow and stroll off stage. 

“What do you need from me, my queen?” he asks, eyes struggling to remain above your neck. 

“What do you you need to fix your machine?” you ask. 

“Money, for starters,” Dwight says. “And something that can withstand a lot of power. I’ll have to rebuild some parts before I can attempt to bring Jerome back.”

“Your king,” you correct. “He’s not Jerome to you.” 

“Right, of course,” Dwight’s face twitches, and you see a brief flash of disappointment. But you choose to ignore it. 

Entering the lab, you make right for Jerome’s tube, coming to a stop with your hands on your hips. Your reflection in the glass in clear, and you see that the cut on your face was sewn together after you died, making the scar even more prominent than it was before. Your veins are also a deep purple, no doubt the after effects of Dwight’s machine. 

“Make sure it doesn’t do this to him,” you demand to Dwight, who is standing nearby, wringing his hands nervously. “The only bruises and marks on his body I like are the ones I give him.” 

Dwight nods. “It may take some time…” at your glare, he recoils. “But whatever you command, my queen.” 

Putting your hands on the glass you lean forward, until all your see is Jerome's face, his mouth still turned up in that final smile. 

_ Still handsome in death, aren’t I, Queenie?  _

It’s like his voice is still in your ear, like all those times he’s whispered to you before. 

“Still handsome, puddin’,” you agree. 

“I’m sorry, my queen?” Dwight asks timidly. 

“Don’t you have work to do?!” you snap, over your shoulder. 

Dwight merely bows and hurries away, returning to his machine. You look back at Jerome, lips curling into a mirror of the smile he now permanently wears. 

“You’ll be back to me in no time, my joker,” you say, trailing your fingers down the glass as if you’re stroking his cheek. “And when you are...we’re going to kill Jim Gordon once and for all. And laugh the entire time.” 

Jerome’s laugh echoes in your memories and you can’t help mimicking it until you're gasping for breath.

 


	22. Sequel Teaser

##  **Devil’s Playground - Teaser**

**Fic Summary:** It’s been a year since you were brought back to life. But you don’t want to keep going without Jerome, and luckily you don’t have to. When he finally returns, you can’t wait to share the empire you’ve built. Except, Jerome doesn’t want to share anymore, and the struggle for control over yourself and Gotham begins. 

**Fic Rating: E**

**Pairings:** Jerome Valeska/Reader, Lee Thompkins/Reader

 **Warnings:** Graphic Depictions of Violence, Explicit Sexual Content

  * **A/N:** Since my time lately is limited, for my 1600 tumblr followers milestone, I’d thought I’d share a teaser of the fic I have been working on! I don’t have a release date yet, as I want to write the whole thing before posting the first chapter, but I am aiming for _February/March 2018_. I’m super excited about this and I hope you enjoy the teaser! 



You find yourself moving toward the building, drawn to the entrance. One of the doors is laying on the ground, the clown face around the opening chipped and faded from harsh weather and neglect, just like everything else. The tracks leading in are rusty, but seem to be intact, and the cart sits at the dock, almost as if it’s waiting for you specifically. The sense of deja vu is strong.

“What do you invest in?” Harold asks, following for a spell until he comes to a stop by the cart.

“Many things,” you say. “Mostly people who I think have potential.”

“Then what do you want this old circus for?” Harold inquires, collapsing onto the seat. He swings his legs in and leans on the safety bar, watching you slowly walk up to the funhouse doors.

You don’t answer right away, too busy reaching up to touch the clown’s cheek. Harold waits awkwardly, and you can feel his eyes burning into the back of your head.

“It’s as I said, I have a lot of memories attached to this place. Besides, everyone has to try new things eventually,” you tell him. “And this circus is just my style.”

“Well, I’m sure you can fetch a low price,” Harold says. “It’s been on the market for years.”

“Oh, I did get a steal for this place,” you say, shoving your hands in your pockets and turning to smile at him. “I signed the papers this morning.”

Harold looks confused. “Then why did you ask to meet?” he asks.

“To thank you for all your hard work,” you reply sweetly. “You’ve been an absolute pleasure to work with.”

Harold puffs out his chest slightly and beams as you take several steps forward, coming to a stop in front of the cart.

“The pleasure’s all mine, Mrs. Jay,” he says. “I’m glad we found what you were looking for.”

“As am I,” you say, extending your hand. “Your bosses thought I was crazy wanting to buy this place. They laughed themselves to death when I told them what I planned to do.”

“They laughed at you? I apologize, that’s unprofessional,” Harold says, taking your hand and giving it a firm shake.

When he tries to pull away, you don’t let go. Instead, you use your free hand to remove your sunglasses, tipping your face upward so he sees the jagged scar under your red hood. Harold’s eyes widen and he freezes, fear taking hold.

“It’s alright, I expected them to,” you say, finally letting him go. He gives a nervous, involuntary laugh, before clearing his throat.

You tuck the sunglasses into your pocket and carefully remove your gloves, revealing your purple-veined hands.

“Please understand, Harold, I intend to keep this circus exactly how it is now: a broken death trap,” you continue, strolling back over to the funhouse doors. “You know, when I came here with my family, my father forced me and my stepmother to go through the funhouse together. I think he thought it would be a bonding experience. Or he needed a hit of whatever drug he was on that week and used it as an excuse to slip away. But, regardless, the ride proved to be a special one. It was the first time I saw her truly scared, and I realized I wanted her to look at me that way.”

Harold laughs nervously again, and you smirk. You kick the broken door off the track and open the second one. Several startled crows fly out, squawking angrily.

“I’ve heard people say that when they’ve wanted something for so long, and then get it, it’s never as good as they thought it would be. Killing my stepmother was so much more invigorating that I ever imagined. The highlight of my life…my first life anyways.”

The memories of stabbing her come again, clipped and black and white, almost like a TV channel with bad reception. You shrug them off.

“I have wonderfully horrible plans for this place, and this city. Acquiring this circus is just the first step. See, Harold, by now you’ve recognized me. You know who I am. Which means you also know what I’m capable of. A lot of people caused not only my death, but the death of my puddin’. Once he wakes, he’ll be gunning for vengeance. And I plan to give him just that. Well, and sex of course.”

You stare into the dark interior of the funhouse, imagining everything you’ll need to accomplish to get it operational. After a moment, you turn and smile at Harold. His hand is still outstretched, frozen in place. The poison began working its magic the second it made contact with his skin, which has since turned gray and mummified. Harold’s eyes are still wide, and now his mouth is as well, drawn up in a painful, ghoulish grin as blood seeps through his pores, staining his lips.

You stroll past the cart, tossing your gloves onto his lap. Moving around to stand behind it, you place your foot on the back of the rotted wood.

“Your services are no longer required, Harold,” you tell the dead man. “It’s a shame you won’t be around when I reopen. It’s going to be terrifyingly amazing!”

You kick the cart as hard as you can and it lurches forward on the track. As you watch it enter the funhouse, you slip your sunglasses on once more and shove your hands into your pockets.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr (ladyfogg) for chapter teasers! Or twitter (leanilopez) just because.


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